i

ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK ON CAIRO

This Handbook simultaneously provides a single text that narrates the Cairo of yesterday
and of today, and gives the reader a major reference to the best of Cairo scholarship.
Divided into three parts covering Histories, Representations and Discourses of Cairo,
the chapters provide comprehensive coverage of Cairo from both a disciplinary and an
interdisciplinary point of view, with scholars from a great range of disciplines. Part One
contains chapters on the history of specific parts of the city to provide both a concise
picture of Cairo and an appreciation for the diversity of its constituent parts and periods.
Part Two of the book deals with the various forms of representations of the city, from
high-​end literature to popular songs, and from photographs to films. Finally, Part Three
covers current discourses about the city, comprising historical reflections on the city from
the present, surveys of its current condition, analysis of it serious urban problems and
visions for its future.
The Routledge Handbook on Cairo provides a unique and innovative look at the ever-​
evolving state of Cairo. It will be a vital reference source for scholars and students
of Middle Eastern Studies, Middle East History, Cultural Studies, Urban Studies,
Architecture and Politics.

Nezar AlSayyad is Distinguished Professor Emeritus of Architecture, Planning and

Urban History at the University of California, Berkeley, where he designed and also
served for two decades as Chair of the Center for Middle Eastern Studies (CMES).
He is a founder and past President of the International Association for the Study of
Traditional Environments (IASTE), and Editor of Traditional Dwellings and Settlements
Review (TDSR). Among his grants and awards are those from the National Endowment
of the Arts, the Getty Center, Ford and the Graham Foundations, and a Guggenheim
Distinguished Fellowship. He has authored and edited numerous books, several of which
have been translated into other languages, among them Nile: Urban Histories on the
Banks of a River (2019); Traditions: The Real, The Hyper, and the Virtual in the Built
Environment (2014); Cairo: Histories of a City (2011); The Fundamentalist City? (2010);
Cinematic Urbanism (2006); Making Cairo Medieval (2005); and Cities and Caliphs (1991).
“Any volume on Cairo is invariably an ambitious undertaking. AlSayyad’s ambition is
well realized in this impressive, multi-faceted collection that does justice to the city’s rich
texture of places, peoples, and pasts. It deals with a real and imagined city, in ways that
foreground its ever-changing character and draw the reader into a dense mix of ancient
and modern, materiality and the intangible, and the grand and the intimate. Aside from
its obvious scholarship, what really stands out in this book is the passion its contributors
share for Cairo.”
Mike Robinson, Professor of Cultural Heritage, Nottingham Trent University
iii

ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK
ON CAIRO
Histories, Representations and Discourses

Edited by Nezar AlSayyad

iv

Cover image: Karim Badr

First published 2023
by Routledge
4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
and by Routledge
605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2023 selection and editorial matter, Nezar AlSayyad;
individual chapters, the contributors
The right of Nezar AlSayyad to be identified as the author of the editorial material,
and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with
sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised
in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or
hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information
storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks,
and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​89593-​8 (hbk)
ISBN: 978-​1-​032-​30086-​3 (pbk)
ISBN: 978-​1-​003-​01999-​2 (ebk)
DOI: 10.4324/​9781003019992
Typeset in Times New Roman
by Newgen Publishing UK
v

CONTENTS

List of figures  viii

Contributors  xiv
Preface  xxi

PART 1
Histories  1

1 Cairo: The State of a City  3

Nezar AlSayyad

2 Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited  10

Tarek Swelim

3 Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate  34

Ayman Fouad Sayyid

4 Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate  45

Omniya Abdel Barr

5 Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

in Cairo  66
Nasser Rabbat

6 1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis  83

Galila El Kadi

7 Policing Cairo in the Nineteenth Century  106

Khaled Fahmy

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Contents

8 Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City and the

Prospects of its Downtown  121
Soheir Hawas

9 Tahrir Square: The Roundabout and the History of Modern Cairo  141
Mariam Abdelazim

PART 2
Representations  161

10 The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay  163

Karim Badr

11 The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture  174

Doris Behrens-​Abouseif

12 Seeing Cairo Through Paris: Nineteenth-​Century Literary

Observations by Egyptian Intellectuals  205
Kinda AlSamara

13 Sayings and Songs: On the Intangible Culture of Cairo  217

Ahmed O. El-​Kholei

14 Cairo Through Her Eyes: Space and Gender Dynamics in

Naguib Mahfouz’s Bayn Al-​Qasrayn  232
Mohammad Salama

15 The Judge, the Officer and the Demiurge: Figures and Figurations
of Old Cairo  246
Ann Madoeuf

16 Cairo on Film: The Modernity of a Cinematic City  255

Nezar AlSayyad

17 Revolutionary Cairo: The City Still Remembers  270

Dina Ezzat

PART 3
Discourses  285

18 The Normalization of Hijab: Islamic Reveiling in Cairo  287

Sherifa Zuhur

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Contents

19 Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric  303

Ahmed M. Soliman

20 Cairo’s Desert Backyard: The Future of an Ever-​Growing

Metropolis?  323
David Sims

21 (Re)Connecting with Wounded Spaces: Encountering Memory,

Place and Narrative in Cairo’s Historic Landscape  337
Gehan Selim

22 An Untold Urban Narrative: Transcending Gender, Culture and

Modernity in Cairo’s Old Quarters  353
Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

23 Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo: A View from

“Middle-​Class” Housing in Al-​Mohandiseen  370
Khaled Adham

24 Government Visions: A Planner’s Perspective on the Remaking of

Cairo  389
Sahar Attia

25 The Transformation of Public Space in Post-​Revolutionary

Cairo: A Diary from Tahrir, 2011–​2013  409
Mona Abaza

Index  425

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FIGURES

2.1 New updated bird’s-​eye imaginary view of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking

from south to north.  12
2.2 Outline of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking from south to north.  13
2.3 An imaginary view of Ibn Tulun’s royal palace, the al-​Maydan
(open parade ground) and gates.  14
2.4 An imaginary view of Khumarawiyyah’s royal complex,
his gardens and zoo.  16
2.5 A reconstructed plan of the original mosque of Ibn Tulun in the
ninth century.  24
2.6 New updated imaginary view of al-​Qata’iʿ from a virtual point
where the domed pavilion of Qubbat al-​Hawwa’ might have stood. 26
2.7 Outline of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking west from a virtual point, where the
domed pavilion of Qubbat al-​Hawwa’ might have stood.  27
3.1 The original plan of Fatimid al-​Qahira.  36
4.1 Map of Mamluk Cairo.  47
4.2 Detail from the minaret of al-​Nasir Muhammad.  51
4.3 The minarets of the complexes of Sultan Qalawun and his son
al-​Nasir Muhammad, seen from the courtyard of the Madrasa of
Sultan Qalawun.  52
4.4 al-​Saliba Street.  55
4.5 al-​Sahara’, entitled “Cairo: Tombs of the Khalifs”.  59
4.6 Detail from the minbar of Qaytbay at the Funerary Khanqah of
Faraj b. Barquq.  60
4.7 The Mausoleum of Sultan al-​Ashraf Qaytbay.  61
5.1 The Mamluk processional route from the Citadel through Cairo.  70
5.2 The Darb al-​Ahmar plan with the Amirial structures.  72
5.3 Plan of the Mosque of Aqsunqur with the house of Ibrahim
Agha Mustahfizan.  73

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List of figures

5.4 The house of Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan squeezed between the

Mosque of Aqsunqur and the complex of Khayer Bek.  74
5.5 Plan of the Mosque of Al-​Maridani.  75
5.6 Triptych: approach to the Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban.  76
5.7 Triptych: approach to the Madrasa of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi.  76
5.8 Aerial view of the complex of Khayer Bek and the Mosque of
Aqsunqur.  77
5.9 Triptych: approach to the complex of Khayer Bek.  78
6.1 The geographical location of the City of the Dead.  84
6.2 The eastern necropolis general view.  85
6.3 The southern necropolis.  86
6.4 Women visiting the cemetery, Bab al Nasr Cemetery.   88
6.5 Description de l’Egypte, Etat Moderne; Cairo, vol. 1;
pl. 65 and 66.  91
6.6 Wooden Tomb, Bab al Nasr Cemetery.  94
6.7 An internal garden, Tomb of Dawlatlu Mustapha Ryad Pacha,
1887, Imam al Shafei.  95
6.8 Tomb of Sitti Kalthum Hanim, wife of Ismail Pacha Yakan, 1906,
southern Necropolis.  96
6.9 Tomb of Al-Hagin Family, 1930, eastern Necropolis.   97
6.10A The Saba’banat mausoleum, after Creswell.  98
6.10B The Saba’banat mausoleum, in 2014.   98
6.11 The Qaytbey monument hidden by informal settlement
development.  99
8.1 “Khedivial Cairo” Map 1 as set by the National Organization
for Urban Harmony (NOUH) in conjunction with UNESCO
and the Supreme Council of Antiquities.  122
8.2 “Khedivial Cairo” showing both both Ismailia and Tawfiqiya
districts.  124
8.3 The contrast between the organic urban fabric of Medieval Cairo
and the radial orthogonal fabric of Khedivial Cairo.  128
8.4 The façades of some buildings in Khedivial Cairo.  129
8.5 The movement network in Khedivial Cairo.  132
8.6 Vehicular roads and pedestrian paths in Khedivial Cairo.  133
8.7 Al-​Alfi Street before and after innovations.  138
9.1 The Egyptian Museum and the British barracks on the
left in 1902.  144
9.2 Aerial view of Tahrir Square in the 1960s.  148
9.3 Tahrir Square during the 1970s with the pedestrian bridge.  149
9.4 Tahrir during the 2011 Revolution.  150
9.5 Panoramic aerial view of Tahrir Square with its surroundings
in 2020.  153
9.6 Recreated ground figure maps of Tahrir Square and its
surroundings showing its change over time.  155

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List of figures

10.1 Cairo in the foreground with the Giza pyramids in the

background.  163
10.2 The Giza pyramids appear at top right with the Medieval city
underneath, marked by the Bab Zuweila minarets at the far left. 164
10.3 The citadel at top left towering over Medieval Cairo with the
Sultan Hassan complex appearing at the far right.  164
10.4 The skyline of the Sultan Hassan complex, one of the most
significant buildings in the Medieval city.  165
10.5 Minarets appear together in a harmony, including those of the
Sultan Hassan complex and the newly restored minarets Umm
Al Sultan Shaaban and Khayerbek.  165
10.6 Enter Medieval Cairo as seen from the Al-​Hakim Fatimid
mosque at the northern edge of the Medieval city. In the middle
appears the complex of Sultan Qalawoun at the center in the
Medieval city.  166
10.7 The complex of Sultan Qalawoun appears top left, with the
Al-​Ghuri complex in the middle.  166
10.8 The citadel appears towering over the Medieval city, the Sultan
Hassan complex and the Intercontinental Hotel. The old city
fades amidst the new modern high rises.  167
10.9 The minarets of the Sultan Hassan complex and the
Amir Sheikhu complex still dominate the scene as the city
turns modern.  167
10.10 The minarets of the Amir Sheikhu madrassa and the Sultan
Hassan complex.  168
10.11 The minarets and domes of the Cairo cemetery rise in the
foreground above the slums of the city.  168
10.12 The Cairo cemetery, which used to be outside the city, is now
surrounded by the city and its traffic.  169
10.13 Al Mukattam Hills and the historic mosque of Al-​Khalwaty in
the background with the buildings and roads of the modern city
in the foreground.  169
10.14 Al Mukattam Hills and the urban expansion that invaded the
Cairo desert.  170
10.15 Modern Cairo showing the Museum of Antiquities on Tahrir
square in the lower middle and office buildings of downtown
hiding the dome of Sultan Qalawoun in the Medieval city.  170
10.16 The Ramses Hilton on the left and the Museum of Antiquities on
the right with the Six of October bridge and highway in between. 
171
10.17 The Nile river divides the modern metropolis into the Cairo and
Giza Governorates; the citadel appears top right behind the
hotels of the modern city with Tahrir Square at center left.  171

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List of figures

10.18 On the Nile looking from the Island of Zamalek showing the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs building and the Cairo World Trade
Center as the tallest high-rises on this skyline.  172
10.19 On the Nile looking south of Cairo toward Giza showing the
Cairo Opera House in the middle bottom and the Sheraton Hotel
top right.  172
10.20 The different layers of Cairo’s urban fabric of the cemetery in
the foreground and in the middle appears the Medieval city with
its minarets, and the city’s modern buildings in the background,
forming the current skyline of the city.  173
11.1 Map of Cairo by Piri Reis.  178
11.2 Detail of Matteo Pagano’s view of Cairo showing the causeway
near of Qaraqush at Giza.  179
11.3 Plan and elevation of the causeway of Qaraqush at Giza by
Frederik Norden, Travels in Egypt and Nubia.  180
11.4 Detail of Pellegrino Brocardi’s view of Cairo showing the island
of Rawda and the aqueduct of al-​Nasir Muhammad with its
intake.  181
11.5 The pleasance complex attributed to Sultan al-​Ghawri (above) and
the intake of the aqueduct of al-​Nasir Muhammad by Cornelius
De Bruyn/​Corneille Le Brun.  183
11.6 Panorama of Cairo (above) and the upper structure of Salah al-​
Din’s well by Cornelius De Bruyn/​Corneille Le Brun.  184
11.7 Drawing of the Nilometer.  185
11.8 Section of Salah al-​Din’s well by Paul Lucas (1720).  186
11.9 View of the island of Rawda with the Nilometer by Frederik
Norden.  187
11.10 Section of the Nilometer by Frederik Norden.  188
11.11 View of the pyramids with the causeway of Qaraqush on the right
by Frederik Norden.  189
11.12 Plan and elevation of Bab al-​Futuh by Richard Pococke.  189
11.13 Plan and elevation of the aqueduct intake of al-​Nasir Muhammad
by Richard Pococke.  190
11.14 Plan and elevation of Salah al-​Din’s well by Richard Pococke.  191
11.15 Plan and elevation of the Great Iwan at the Citadel by Richard
Pococke.  192
11.16 Sketch with a view of the Bayn al-​Qasrayn street above and a
study of portals, by Louis François Cassas.  193
11.17 The Mosque of Sultan Hasan by Louis François Cassas.  194
11.18 Bab al-​Futuh by Louis François Cassas.  195
11.19 Sketch of the Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel
by Louis François Cassas.  196

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List of figures

11.20 Procession of the Pasha into Cairo by Louis François Cassas.  196
11.21 View of the cemetery south of the Citadel by Louis
François Cassas.  197
11.22 The Nilometer during the flood by Luigi Mayer.  198
11.23 The Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel by
Luigi Mayer.  199
11.24 Bab al-​Nasr by Luigi Mayer.  199
11.25 Mamluk underglaze-​painted 15th-​century tile at the mosque of
al-​Qalʿi in Damascus.  200
14.1 The Qalawun complex.  235
14.2 The madrasa of Barquq.  236
14.3 A traditional Mashrabeyya.  239
14.4 The mosque of al-​Hussein.  242
15.1 Fountain in Al-​Azhar Park.  252
16.1 A scene from Al-​Qahira 30 showing the billboards advertising
luxury items while the film protagonist walks by.  257
16.2 The Hara or the traditional Quarter as shown in al-​Qalb Loh
Ahkam.  258
16.3 The wealthy districts of Cairo as shown in al-​Qalb Loh Ahkam.  259
16.4 The protagonist walks dismayed and disengaged in the dug-​up
streets of Cairo in Adrift on the Nile.  261
16.5 The drivers of the microbuses at the stop in ‘Afarīt al-​Asphalt.  262
16.6 The protagonist encountering daily harassment in the public buses
in the film 678.  265
16.7 The poor maid heading to the rich gated compound where she
works in Nawwara.  267
19.1 The built-​up area of Cairo in the 1920s, 1970s, 2000s and 2020s. 306
19.2 The three modes of informal housing systems (semi-​informal,
squatting and ex-​formal) in Cairo.  308
19.3 The taxonomies of urban informality.  309
20.1 Greater Cairo topography: agricultural areas, built-​up areas and
deserts with contours.  324
20.2 New towns and new settlements around Cairo as planned
in 1983.  327
20.3 Greater Cairo and new town boundaries in 2009.  330
21.1 Location of Bulaq Abul Ela in central Cairo.  338
21.2 Uncleared ‘ishash in Bulaq.  343
21.3 Daily sociability and connected networks of people in Bulaq.  347
21.4 Street spaces characterized by complex styles of trade and
housing.  348
22.1 A sketch drawing of Medieval Cairo from a distance.  355
22.2 Mobility of elites’ residences in Old Cairo between 1293 and the
end of the 18th century.  356
22.3 Pharus Map of Cairo, 1905 by H. Friedrich & Co.  358

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List of figures

22.4 One of the harem quarters in Bayt Al-​Suhaimy. A space for social
life and entertainment and shopping for women in late medieval
homes.  359
22.5 Relaxed boundaries of privacy and gender barriers over two
centuries: a symptomatic cultural shift following the changing
demographics and social profile of a typical Cairene harah.  363
22.6 Mid-​20th-​century houses showing outward spatial design and
limited interior spaces: (a) Al-​Darb Al-​Asfar layout of
20th-​century houses, showing shrinking the scale of the units;
(b) some floor plans of an apartment.  365
23.1 A view of part of al-​Mohandiseen 1990.  371
23.2 Mahboub’s proposal for Awqaf City in context, 1935.  376
23.3 Riad’s proposal for Awqaf City in context, 1948.  377
23.4 Map of al-​Mohandiseen, 1958.  379
23.5 Map of al-​Mohandiseen, 2021.  383
24.1 Location of the Maspero Triangle in the heart of Cairo.  396
24.2 Maspero Triangle boundary, and the major existing buildings.  397
24.3 The deterioration in Maspero before demolition.  398
24.4 The distribution of land ownership before land re-​adjustment.  399
24.5 Approved master plan for Maspero Triangle.  401
24.6 Layout of the relocation housing in Maspero Triangle.  402
24.7 Relocation housing in Maspero.  403
24.8 Informality in Maspero Triangle.  404
25.1 Walling, isolating, segregating … .  411
25.2 Mohamed Abla’s painting, Wolves, January 28, 2012.  413
25.3 On the walls of the Mugama’.  415
25.4 Blue bra graffiti.  416
25.5 Ganzeer’s mask of freedom.  417
25.6 Graffiti on “the street of the eyes of freedom”,
December 15, 2011.  418
25.7 Mohamed Mahmud Street, freshly whitewashed,
January 24, 2012.  419
25.8 Freshly whitewashed, fresh graffiti, January 26, 2012.  419
25.9 Gas mask graffiti after the gassings, December 15, 2011.  420
25.10 Graffiti memorializing the Ultras in an ancient Egyptian-​style
death ceremony.  421
25.11 Mural at the AUC: Tahrir Square by Alaam Awad.  421
25.12 Filming the march, February 2012.  422

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CONTRIBUTORS

Mona Abaza is a Professor of Sociology in the Department of Sociology, Anthropology

and Psychology at The American University in Cairo, where she also served as Chair
(2007–​2009). She has occupied many previous positions including serving as Professor
of Islamology at Lund University, Sweden, and was a Research Fellow at Morphomata,
Cologne, Germany. She was also a Visiting Scholar at the Institute for South East Asian
Studies, Singapore; l’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales, Paris, France; the
Wissenschaftskolleg, Berlin, Germany; the International Institute for Asian Studies,
Leiden, The Netherlands; among others. She is the author of many books, among them
Cairo Collages, Every Day Life Practices After the Event (2020); The Cotton Plantation
Remembered (2013); Twentieth-​century Egyptian Art: The private collection of Sherwet
Shafei (2011); Changing Consumer Cultures Of Modern Egypt: Cairo’s Urban Reshaping
(2006); and The Changing Image Of Women In Rural Egypt (1987).

Mariam Abdelazim is an architectural designer, educator, and researcher. She received

her PhD in Urban Systems from the joint degree PhD Program at New Jersey Institute
of Technology (NJIT) and Rutgers State University. She taught history of architecture
and digital design courses at NJIT and worked as a designer with a number of non-​profit
projects in New York City for the Storefront for Art and Architecture, and the Institute
for Public Architecture. Her PhD research focused on the morphological changes of the
design and function of Tahrir Square over time. She is currently an Assistant Professor in
the Department of Architecture of the School of Engineering at AUC.

Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem is Professor and Chair of Architecture and Director of the
Centre for Architecture, Urbanism and Global Heritage at Nottingham Trent University.
A Fellow of the Royal Society of Arts, he is the lead investigator of the Global Heritage
Research Theme at the university, the recipient of the NTU Vice-​Chancellor Outstanding
Researcher Award (2020), Jeffrey Cook Award of the International Association of the
Study of Traditional Environments (2014). He also received numerous research grants
and awards from the United Kingdom and the European Union and his research has
informed several international organizations and has been featured in leading academic
journals. Among his authored and edited books are Peripheries: Edge Conditions in

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Contributors

Architecture (2012), Portrush: Towards an Architecture for the North Irish Coast (2013),
The Architecture of Home in Cairo (2016) and Architecture, Space and Memory of
Resurrection in Northern Ireland (2019.

Khaled Adham is currently a Research Affiliate with Leibniz-​Zentrum Moderner Orient

(ZMO), Berlin, Germany. For more than a decade he held an Associate Professor
of Architecture and Urban Planning position in the Department of Architectural
Engineering, United Arab Emirates University in Al-​Ein. He taught undergraduate and
graduate courses in Architecture and Planning in universities in Egypt and the United
States. His research activities are primarily focused on the impact of late capitalism on
the urban transformations of Cairo. He has authored book chapters, articles in refereed
journals and numerous papers in conference proceedings on these subjects.

Kinda AlSamara is a Lecturer at the Centre for Arab and Islamic Studies, Australian
National University (ANU), Canberra, Australia. Prior to this position, she served
as principal lecturer and Unit Chair of the Arabic Program in the Faculty of Art and
Education at Deakin University, Melbourne. She has an extensive publication record
including refereed journal articles and book chapters dealing mainly with Arabic litera-
ture in Egypt and Syria, with a focus on issues of gender, education, media, women’s
history and the history of the Arab-​Islamic tradition. She is also a major expert on
the interpretation of ancient Arabic text and traditional Arabic sources. She is also a
published poet in Arabic, and she serves as a regular commentator in the Australian and
international media on Arab topics and often writes for the Australia Arabic-​language
daily El-​Telegraph.

Nezar AlSayyad is Professor Emeritus of Architecture, Planning, and Urban History at

the University of California, Berkeley, where he designed and also served for two decades
as Chair of the Center for Middle Eastern studies (CMES). He is a founder and past
President of the International Association for the Study of Traditional Environments
(IASTE), and Editor of Traditional Dwellings and Settlements Review (TDSR). Among his
grants and awards are those from the National Endowment of the Arts, the Getty Center,
Ford and the Graham Foundations, and a Guggenheim Distinguished Fellowship. He
has authored and edited numerous books, several of which have been translated to other
languages, among them Nile: Urban Histories on the Banks of a River (2019); Traditions:
The Real, The Hyper, and the Virtual in the Built Environment (2014); Cairo: Histories of a
City (2011); The Fundamentalist City? (2010); Cinematic Urbanism (2006); Making Cairo
Medieval (2005); and Cities and Caliphs (1991).

Sahar Attia is Professor Emerita of Architecture at the Faculty of Engineering, Cairo

University, where she served as Head of the Department of Architecture from 2013
to 2017. She has 40 years of experience practicing and teaching urban planning and
design. She is currently a member of the Supreme Council of Urban Development
in Egypt, a member in the Stakeholders Advisory Group Enterprise (SAGE) and co-​
chair of the University Network Initiative both of UN-​Habitat. She is the Co-​Editor of
Dynamics And Resilience Of Informal Areas: International Perspectives (2016), New Cities
and Community Extensions in Egypt and The Middle East (2018), Cultural Sustainable
Tourism (2019) and Ecocities Now (2020). In January 2021, she received a presidential
appointment to be a member of the Egyptian Parliament.

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Contributors

Karim Badr is a professional photographer, urban researcher and a cultural heritage spe-
cialist. He received his graduate degree in the field of cultural heritage from University
of Paris I Sorbonne-​Pantheon, France, and has worked in different projects for the pres-
ervation and management of cultural heritage in Egypt through UNESCO, USAID
and other cultural organizations. He has participated in exhibitions about Cairo’s urban
heritage and has delivered lectures and conducted cultural tours about the urban heri-
tage of Islamic Cairo, which is listed as a UNESCO World heritage site. His profes-
sional photographs have been published in many books and publications concerning the
heritage of Historic Cairo. His current work involves studying the different connections
between cultural heritage sites and the communities living around them, focusing on
monitoring the human factors affecting cultural change.

Omniya Abdel Barr is an architect working between London and Cairo, specializing
in cultural heritage conservation and documentation, and her work focuses on Islamic
architecture in Egypt. She holds a PhD on Mamluk History from Provence University,
Aix-Marseille, France (2015), an MSc in Conservation from the Raymond Lemaire Center
at KUL, Leuven, Belgium (2004) and a BSc in Architecture from the Faculty of Fine
Arts, Helwan University, Egypt (2000). Omniya is currently the Barakat Trust Fellow at
the Victoria and Albert Museum, leading the digitization project of K.A.C. Creswell’s
archive in collaboration with the American University in Cairo, the Ashmolean Museum,
Oxford and Harvard University. She is also the Project Manager of Rescuing the Mamluk
Minbars of Cairo, a project funded by the British Council’s Cultural Protection Fund in
partnership with DCMS and implemented by the Egyptian Heritage Rescue Foundation.
She is an expert on Medieval Cairo during the Mamluk era and has published many
papers on the subject.

Doris Behrens-​Abouseif is Professor Emerita and former Nasser D Khalili Chair for
Islamic Art and Archaeology at SOAS University of London. She has been visiting pro-
fessor and fellow at several universities worldwide and is a member of the Academia
Europaea. Her interests cover a wide range of subject of Islamic art and culture. Among
her books: Egypt’s Adjustment to Ottoman Rule (1994), Beauty in Arabic Culture (1999),
Cairo of the Mamluks (2007), The Minarets of Cairo (2010), Practicing Diplomacy in the
Mamluk Sultanate (2014, The Book in Mamluk Egypt and Syria 1250–​1517 (2018) and
Metal Work in the Arab and Mediterranean World (2021).

Galila El Kadi is former Research Director of Urban and Regional Planning at the
Institut de Recherche pour le développement (IRD/​France), where she was responsible
for the Urban Environment Research Unit. In addition to her teaching activities in the
French and Egyptian universities, she was Head of the Department of Architecture at
the French University in Egypt (FUE). She co-​founded the Master program on Cultural
Heritage at the FUE in partnership with the University of Paris I Sorbonne. She is a
member of UNESCO’s International Experts Committee for the Conservation of the
Urban and Architectural Heritage on Modernity in Arab World and was a consultant
to the Governor of Cairo for the rehabilitation project of Khedivial Cairo between
2013 and 2017. She is the author of Cairo Centre in Movement (2012) and co-​author
of the Architecture for the dead, Cairo Medieval Necropolis (2007) and the co-​editor of
Rashid: Birth, prosperity and decline (2000).

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Contributors

Ahmed O. El-​Kholei is a Professor of Urban Planning at Menoufia University, Egypt,

and the Arabian Gulf University (AGU), Bahrain. He was responsible for developing
Egypt’s National Environmental Action Plan 2002–​2017 and Yemen’s Environmental
Sustainability Strategy, 2022, and contributing to Syria’s 10th Five-​Year Plan and
reviewing Djibouti and Sudan’s environmental national action plans. He was a member
of the Advisory Group for the Central Emergency Relief Fund of the UN Office of
Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs (2006–​2008) and Co-​Director for the MENA
Region of the South Mediterranean Prevention, Preparedness, and Response to Disasters
unit (2009–​2010). He contributed to several national and regional reports under the
UNFCCC. His papers and book chapters address urban and regional planning methods
and models, environmental management and sustainable development.

Dina Ezzat is an Egyptian journalist at Al-​Ahram Weekly, an Egyptian weekly news-

paper in English and the Al-​Ahram Online news portal. Throughout 30 years of practice
in journalism, she has covered a wide range of issues –​political, social and cultural –​both
in Egypt and elsewhere around the Middle East. Her writing portfolio includes articles
on the social and architectural history of Cairo and Alexandra with a focus on the heri-
tage discourse. She has contributed chapters to books on the status of women in Egypt
published by the Panos Institute. In 2018, she won the Maria Grazia Cutuli International
Journalism Award in the Foreign Press Section for her coverage of the Middle East and
Egypt during the Arab Spring of 2011.

Khaled Fahmy is Sultan Qaboos bin Sa’id Professor of Modern Arabic Studies at the
University of Cambridge. His research interests lie in the social and cultural history of
modern Egypt. His publications include the important book All the Pasha’s Men: Mehmed
Ali, His Army and the Making of Modern Egypt (1997) on the social history of the
Egyptian army in the first half of the 19th century, a biography on Mehmed Ali titled
Mehmed Ali: From Ottoman Governor to Ruler of Egypt (2008) and, more recently, an
award-​winning book on the intersection of law and medicine in 19th-​century Egypt titled
In Quest of Justice: Islamic Law and Forensic Medicine in Modern Egypt (2018).

Soheir Zaki Hawas is a Professor Emerita of Architecture & Urban Design at the Faculty
of Engineering, Cairo University. She has extensive experience with heritage and docu-
mentation studies, particularly in relation to Cairo’s built environment in the 19th and
early 20th centuries. Between 2004 and 2013 she was the Chair of the Research and
Policy Department at the National Organization of Urban Harmony (NOUH), pro-
viding consulting services for documentation, conservation and restoration of histor-
ical buildings in Cairo. She is the author of the Arabic Encyclopedic work Khedivial
Cairo: Identification and Documentation of Urban-​ Architecture in Downtown Cairo,
published in 2002. She has contributed to many other books and was the lead author on
Urban Conservation: Regeneration of Heritage Areas in Egypt –​Darb Al-​Ahmar Model
Project (2013).

Anna Madoeuf is Professor of Geography at the Research Laboratory Citeres, University

of Tours, France. Her work is mainly in the field of urban studies with a specialty on the
Arab world in a comparative perspective. Her research focuses on the evolution of his-
toric districts through the processes of heritage creation and tourism development, and

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Contributors

on the imaginations of cities via the exotic construction of otherness. Her co-​authored
books include Abécédaire de la ville au Maghreb et au Moyen-​Orient (2020); Explorer le
temps au Liban et au Proche-​Orient (2017); Lire les villes: Panoramas du monde urbain
contemporain (2012); and Les pèlerinages au Maghreb et au Moyen-​Orient, espaces publics,
espaces du public (2010).

Nasser Rabbat is the Aga Khan Professor and the Director of the Aga Khan Program
for Islamic Architecture at MIT. He has published numerous articles and several books
on topics ranging from Mamluk architecture to Antique Syria, and nineteenth-​century
Cairo. His most recent books are ‘Imarat al-​Mudun al-​Mayyita (2018) in Arabic,
and an online book, The Destruction of Cultural Heritage: From Napoléon to ISIS,
co-​edited with Pamela Karimi (2016), and his seminal book Mamluk History through
Architecture: Monuments, Culture and Politics in Medieval Egypt and Syria (2010). His
book on the fifteenth-​century Egyptian historian al-​Maqrizi will be published in 2022.
He has held several academic and research appointments. He regularly contributes to
several Arabic newspapers and consults with international design firms on projects in the
Islamic World.

Mohammad Salama is Professor of Arabic and Chair of the Department of Modern

and Classical Languages at George Mason University, Virginia. He has held faculty
positions at UW-​Whitewater and San Francisco State University. His work focuses on
analysis of literary and cultural trends, with particularly emphasis on “theorizing” Islam
in postcolonial Arab and Western thought. His books include Islam, Orientalism, and
Intellectual History: Modernity and the Politics of Exclusion Since Ibn Khaldun (2011),
The Qurʾan and Modern Arabic Literary Criticism: From Taha to Nasr (2018) and Islam
and the Culture of Modern Egypt: From the Monarchy to the Republic (2018). He is cur-
rently working on a God’s Other Book: The Qur’an between History and Ideology, which
is expected in 2023.

Ayman Fouad Sayyid is Senior Islamic Historian and former director of the Dar
al-​Kuttub, the National Archives for Documents in Egypt. For over a decade he was in
charge of the historic manuscripts division of the Arab League Educational, Scientific
and Cultural Organization (ALESCO). He taught Islamic history and Arabic codicology
at universities in Cairo, Paris and Tokyo. He is the recipient of the Medal of Science and
Arts from the President of Egypt, and the State Appreciation Award in Social Sciences
(History) from the Supreme Council of Culture in Egypt, the highest recognition offered
by the Egyptian state. As one of the foremost authorities on the history of medieval
Egypt, he has edited and published numerous books in Arabic and French among them
La capitale de l’Égypte jusqu’à l’époque Fatimide, al-​Qahira et al-​Fustat (1998) and
al-​Dawla al Fatimiyya fi Misr (2000).

Gehan Selim is an Architect and an Associate Professor at the University of Leeds,

United Kingdom. During 2017–​2018, she was a Fellow of The Senator George Mitchell
Institute for Global Peace, Security and Justice and the Deputy Director of the Leeds
Social Sciences Institute. Her interdisciplinary research bridges between Architecture,
Urban Politics and Digital Heritage. She leads several funded research projects in the
Middle East and conflict zones (Egypt, Lebanon, Iraq, Jordan and Northern Ireland).
She has written extensively on Cairo’s architecture and urbanism through books, articles

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Contributors

and blogs. She is the author of Unfinished Places (2017) and Architecture, Space and
Memory of Resurrection in Northern Ireland’ (2019).

David Sims is an economist and urban development specialist who has worked for
50 years in Arab countries as well as in Asia and sub-​Saharan Africa. He has consider-
able experience in urban development and urban upgrading, particularly in Egypt. As a
long-​term resident of Cairo, he has led a number of studies about the contemporary city,
particularly its housing policies and schemes. He has written numerous scholarly articles
on the subject and he is the author of Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City Out of
Control (2012) and Egypt’s Desert Dreams: Development or Disaster? (2018).

Ahmed Soliman is a Professor Emeritus of Architecture and Urban Planning, Architectural

Department, Faculty of Engineering at the University of Alexandria, Egypt, where he
served as chair of the department for several years. He also served as chair for four years
of the Faculty of Architecture of Beirut Arab University, Lebanon. Currently, he heads
the Scientific Committee of the Supreme Council of the Egyptian Universities. He is
a founder of the Architectural and Planning Studies Center, a private firm which has
carried out several urban planning projects in Egypt and Lebanon. He has authored
numerous papers in international journals and has contributed chapters to many books.
He is the author of An Urban Informality (2021), A Possible Way Out (2004) and The
Poor in Search of Shelter (2013).

Tarek Swelim is an Associate Professor of Islamic Art and Architecture at the College
of Islamic Studies at Hamad Bin Khalifa University, in Qatar. His is a well-​published
historian of early Islamic Egypt with many articles and book chapters, among
them: “An Interpretation of the Mosque of Sinan Pasha in Cairo”, Muqarnas X (1999),
“Antinopolis”, Encyclopedia of the Archaeology of Ancient Egypt (1999) and “The
Minaret of Ibn Tulun: Reconsidered” in Cairo Heritage in Honor of Laila ‘Ali Ibrahim
(2000). He also the author of the books The History and Religious Heritage of Old Cairo
(2013) and Ibn Tulun: His Lost City and Great Mosque (2015).

Sherifa Zuhur was a Professor, Research Professor and Visiting Professor at the Strategic
Studies Institute, US Army War College, the American University in Cairo, Cleveland
State University, and California State University, Sacramento. She is a past-​President of
the Association of Middle East Women’s Studies. She received various grants and awards
including from the Fulbright Foundation, the Rockefeller Foundation and the United
Nations. She has written, edited and co-​edited numerous books and articles, among
them: Popular Dance and Music in Egypt (2021), Egypt’s Conflicting Interests: Political,
Business, Religious, Social and Popular Culture (2017), Egypt: Security, Political, and
Islamist Challenges (2007), Women and Gender in the Middle East and the Islamic World
Today (2003), Gender, Sexuality and the Criminal Laws in Middle East and North Africa
(2005), Asmahan’s Secrets: Woman, War and Song (2000) and Revealing Reveiling: Islamist
Gender Ideology in Contemporary Egypt (1990).

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PREFACE

Much has been written about Cairo, one of the greatest cities of the Middle East. The
intent behind Routledge Handbook on Cairo: Histories, Representations and Discourses is
to provide a rich survey of scholarship about the city from both disciplinary and inter-
disciplinary points of view. Unlike an encyclopedia, this Handbook includes unique and
innovative selected contributions that challenge, but also sometimes reaffirm, ideas and
assumptions about Cairo as a living society and a built environment.
Although the contributors to this volume come from a variety of disciplines, most of
them may be described as urbanists, scholars who have focused on the condition of Cairo
from either a historical or a contemporary perspective. They include a “who’s who” of
well-​established senior writers and scholars of the city –​but also some younger scholars
who have produced recent, cutting-​edge research on the city. All have published books or
articles about the themes they have been invited to address. My idea was to give some of
these authors the space to reflect on earlier scholarship, while allowing others to address
subjects that have not been explored before.
As a consequence of this approach, the book will provide a single text that narrates
the Cairo of yesterday and of today on the one hand, and on the other hand a reader
that incudes diverse forms of Cairo scholarship. However, the book is not meant to be
comprehensive in its scope, although it provides a substantial coverage in terms of dis-
ciplinary approaches to the city. The contributing authors come from diverse disciplines
including anthropology, archeology, architecture, architectural history, art history, geog-
raphy, history, journalism, literature, photography, planning, sociology, urban design,
and urban studies. I consider this volume a Cairo book narrated by Cairenes because
the few contributors who are not Egyptian are lovers of the city who have live in it or
researched aspects of its urbanity for decades. They often know as much about Cairo
if not more than Egyptian-​born scholars who may have also dedicated their careers to
studying it. Similarly, some of the Egyptian contributors have studied, lived, or are cur-
rently living in the US or Europe and hence their reading of the city is influenced by
this multicultural exposure. These two groups share two commonalities as their members
are constituted of individuals who have done extensive fieldwork in city, and they have
published extensively about the city in either Arabic, English, French or German.

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Preface

I structured the book into three parts to provide equal coverage for what I considered
to be the three main aspects of the city: its history, its representations, and the current
discourses on its present and future. The first section is titled “Histories” because I have
always believed that there is not and there need not be a singular history for any city
or even for any of its historical periods. This part contains chapters that deal with the
history of specific parts of the city to provide both a concise picture of its totality and
an appreciation for the diversity of its constituent parts and periods. This part of the
book is written mainly by architectural historians, art historians and social historians
of the city.
Part 2 of the book deals with the various forms of representations of the city from
high-​end literature to popular songs, and from photographs to films. And through
contributions in this part, we not only discover the different layers of the city, but we
also start to understand the possibilities and limitations of different disciplinary inter-
pretations. Hence the contributing authors to this section are the most diverse as they
represent expertise in Arab studies, art, comparative literature, film, geography, jour-
nalism and photography.
Finally, the last part of the book deals with current discourses about the city written
by scholars whom I would mainly describe as urbanists. Some are architects and urban
designers while others are social scientists and literary analysists. The chapters in this part
include historical reflections on parts of the city from the present, surveys of its current
condition, analysis of it serious urban problems, reviews of plans for its remaking, and
finally visions for its future.
In this endeavor I have benefited greatly from many individuals whom I would like to
acknowledge. First I would like to acknowledge the contributors who took time to pro-
vide chapters on particular new aspects as well as their named or unnamed assistants who
provided resources and illustrations. Soad Khalil in Cairo did an excellent job ensuring
consistency across all chapters with regard to dates and the transliteration of Arabic
words. At Routledge, Joe Whiting, who commissioned this work, was very supportive
from the start and was very open to the ideas that finally shaped the book. I would
also like to thank Charlie Baker, who handled the manuscript upon submission, and Ed
Robinson at Newgen and his team, who turned it into a handsome Handbook.
Nezar AlSayyad
Berkeley, November 2021

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PART 1

Histories
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1
CAIRO
The State of a City

Nezar AlSayyad

Writing about Cairo now or in the past is not an easy or a straightforward task. What
can be said of Cairo that has not already been told before? It is a city that has fascinated
residents, visitors and experts over centuries and on which many volumes have been
written. But there are many ways to tell the story of a city, and this book is a collection
of essays written specifically by some of the best scholars of the city from various fields.
Cairenes or lovers of Cairo, whose closeness to the city allows them intimate knowledge
and a unique perspective while still maintaining a critical scholarly distance. As such,
the contributors to the volume come from different disciplines and they use different
and often incommensurate methods. They are anthropologists, architects, art historians,
economists, geographers, historians, journalists, literature critics, photographers,
planners, and political scientists. I consider all of them urbanists because the city and its
urban condition has been at the center of their interest, concern, activism or scholarship.
As the contributors to this volume illustrate, there are many Cairos, or many other
Cairos in Greater Cairo itself. Indeed, there is Cairo, the city of migrant workers; Cairo,
the city of informal activities and people who occupy much of its spaces; Cairo, the city
of unique urban pockets whose residents feel that they live elsewhere; Cairo, the city of
gated communities and exclusive urban malls that transport their visitors to another
world; Cairo, the city in which women in niqab mix comfortably with those who are
skimpily dressed; and Cairo, the city of expatriates and experts who spend lifetimes
trying to figure it out. WOW!
Cairo, whose Arabic name is al-​Qahirah, meaning “the Victorious”, has sat on the
banks of the Nile for more than one thousand years. Its physical form is fan-​shaped
primarily on the eastern Nile shore, but in the twentieth century and in response to
heightened demand, the city expanded concentrically in all directions, becoming a major
metropolis.

Histories
The first section of our book deals with histories of the city. And yes, they are his-
tories by historians who use different historical methods, for there is no history without

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-2 3
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Nezar AlSayyad

historians –​with all the agendas and limitations of their methods. They are histories that
are written from the present and are not innocent of contemporary demands.
Five thousand years ago, Cairo’s predecessor, Memphis, was a thriving metropolis.
Today it lies mainly in ruins approximately 24 km southwest of Cairo. The seed from
which Cairo sprang was the Roman Fort whose remains still exist 5 km south of the city’s
current downtown where the Arabs built the town of al-​Fustat in 641. Al-​‘Askar was
founded in 750 by the Umayyads northeast of Fustat, but little remains of these early
developments in the contemporary city.
The city of al-​Qata’iʿ was founded by Ahmad Ibn Tulun in 870 AD as the third cap-
ital of Islamic Egypt. Historical sources tell us that it had splendid buildings with a
great palace complex and an open ground known as al-​Maydan. The city flourished for
a period of 35 years, until it was seized and destroyed by the ʿAbbasids in 905 AD. The
only building that was left to survive was the mosque of Ibn Tulun. In Chapter 2, Tarek
Swelim tells us about both what is known versus what is not known about the city of
al-​Qata’iʿ, offering a newly updated imaginary of the buildings and urban fabric of the
city. In 969, the Fatimids, adherents of a Shi‘ite sect, conquered Egypt and established
the city of al-​Qahirah in celebration of the arrival of caliph al-​Mu‘izz, who made the
city the capital of a dynasty that lasted for two centuries. Ayman Fouad Sayyid tells us
in Chapter 3 about this Shi‘ite Isma‘ili imamate by exposing that, for much of its first
century, it functioned mainly as a palace. By focusing on the rituals of Fatimid Caliphal
rule, he also discusses how this palatial compound operated with the neighboring city of
Fustat during much of the period of Fatimid rule in Egypt.
Medieval Cairo reached its zenith during the Mamluk era, which lasted for two and
a half centuries. By about 1340 Cairo had become one of the largest cities in the known
world. It became the principal seat of Islamic learning and it thrived both intellectually
and culturally with great architectural masterpieces built during this period. By the
middle of the fifteenth century, it accommodated around half a million people living in
an area five times greater than the original walled Fatimid city. Both Omniya Abdel Barr
and Nasser Rabbat in Chapters 4 and 5 respectively show us how the current historic
city core was mostly shaped by the Mamluks. When they inherited Egypt’s rule from the
Ayyubids, they also inherited a capital still divided between Fustat and al-​Qahirah. Cairo
went through major phases of expansions during Mamluk rule despite multiple eco-
nomic and political crises, including famine and the plague. Abdel Barr’s chapter traces
the major construction experience and its ambitious architectural and urban projects,
undertaken by skilled builders. In his chapter, Nasser Rabbat traces the architectural
components that shaped Mamluk architecture in Cairo. He shows how the arched portal,
the elongated dome, and the multi-​level façade created the character of the city, which
was achieved through employing specific urban themes like verticality and visibility
within the urban surroundings. His chapter analyzes the various design strategies used to
coopt the streets and incorporate them in an overall intricate urbanity that reflects both
the hierarchical Mamluk social and political system.
By the beginning of the sixteenth century, Egypt lost its autonomy and Cairo became
a provincial capital in the Ottoman Empire. The city of the dead, or Cairo’s Medieval
Necropolis, also referred to as the Qarafa, was a series of vast necropolises and ceme-
teries which occupy one thousand hectares east of the old city and stretch for more than
10 km from north to south, constituting a major feature of the city’s urban landscape
from Fatimid to Ottoman times. Chapter 6 by Galila El Kadi sheds light on the diversity

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Cairo: The State of a CIty

and richness of the funeral architecture of this segment of the historic city, which has
been included in the UNESCO World Heritage designation for Cairo.
By 1798, when Napoleon and his troops arrived in Cairo, fewer than 300,000 people
were living in the city and its main suburbs. When the French finally left in 1802, Egypt
returned nominally to the Ottomans, but Mohamed ‘Ali who was sent to govern it
managed to achieve a degree of autonomy for the country and acquired the right to pass
its rule to his children. ‘Ali is often described as the father of modernization and industri-
alization in Egypt because of his investment in sending major educational missions from
the ranks of the Egyptian elite to Europe. These individuals would ultimately return to
help make Cairo into a modern city with all the modern amenities like open streets, muni-
cipal institutions, and policing.
In Chapter 7, Khaled Fahmy describes how the present-​day system of policing Cairo
was put in place in the course of the nineteenth century. He traces the process of change
from policing under the Ottomans, who relied on the Janissaries, the market inspector
(al-​ muḥtasib) and the governor of Cairo (al-​ wali), to how the French, who introduced
a system during their occupation that divided the city into eight districts, dismantled the
gates of the Haras (the Ottoman residential quarter gates) and introduced demographic
measures that allowed them to control the city, a legacy that has left its traces in the city
of today .
While modern urban growth in Cairo began in the late 1830s, it was only during
the reign of Khedive Isma‘il (1863–​1879) that the city’s urban form was fundamen-
tally changed. Influenced by Baron Haussmann’s renovation of Paris, Isma‘il ordered
the construction of a European-​style quarter to the west of the old core. Soheir Hawas
in Chapter 8 looks at this area, which she calls “Khedivial Cairo”. She shows how the
Khedive strived to make his capital, Cairo, as the “Paris of the East”.
By 1970, however, the city now a metropolis was suffering from major overcrowding
and by the beginning of the 21st century it became a mega city expanding in every dir-
ection and filling an area of around 3000 km², and accommodating 20 million people,
representing more than a fifth of the entire Egyptian population. Significant improvements
in the transportation system, including an underground metro, fostered the growth of
many suburbs and new satellite cities, many of which were still very dependent on the city
itself. The growth of the city and the explosion of its population did not come without
major political upheaval.
On January 25, 2011 and after almost 60 years of military rule, the Egyptian people
rebelled against their government, an action best illustrated by the 18-​day protest in
Tahrir Square in the Downtown Cairo, later dubbed the “Egyptian revolution”. In
Chapter 9, Mariam Abdelazim ends our histories section of the book by analyzing
the history of the Square as a tool to narrate the contemporary history of Cairo. The
global media coverage of the events at the Square made it a worldwide symbol of lib-
eration and freedom of expression. Throughout 150 years, the Square’s roundabout
has been redesigned and different monuments have been placed in it or around it in a
manner that propagates specific notions of Egyptian identity. Her chapter analyzes the
roundabout to tell a roundabout history of Modern Cairo under these different rulers
and demonstrate that the Square has not only epitomized periods of people’s power
in Cairo but that it has also stood as evidence of the hegemony of successive political
regimes in Egypt. The choice to end this section of the book as well as the following two
sections with essays about Tahrir square is a tribute to the significance of urban space

5
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Nezar AlSayyad

in capturing not only the history of the city but also the city as seen, lived, represented,
discussed and debated.

Representations
The second section of the book deals with the theme of representations of the city. As
urbanists, we set out to construct a narrative whose strength lies in its ability to convey
precise representations of the city’s life, activity, and urban form and space. Here we
must remember that describing a living or even a dead place is first and foremost an art
of interpretation and not simply a science of representation. The subjects and themes
that we elect to focus on change based on the unique qualities of the media under ana-
lysis. This requires us to operate mainly in the space between the words and the images,
as demonstrated by the contributors to this second section of the book. The challenge in
telling stories of the city using different forms of representations including photographs,
paintings, poems, songs, novels, films and memoirs perhaps lies in our ability to be open
to and to celebrate the possibilities afforded by each unique medium while at the same
time recognizing its limitations.
We start this second section with Chapter 10, a photo essay by Karim Badr, one of
Egypt’s best-​known urban photographers. Using a series of panoramic scenes of the
city’s skyline from different locations, he illustrates the transformation of the city from
its old historic core to its modern towers. In Chapter 11, Doris Behrens-​Abouseif looks
at the earliest known images of Cairo and its Islamic monuments prior to Napoleon’s
Description de l’Egypte and the following era of colonial presence in the city. Her focus
is on Mamluk and Ottoman Cairo, which had emerged in Europe in the literature of
travelogues as a major subject of interest. Illustrations and paintings by orientalists
became popular and used to sell as important works of art. Her analysis shows how, by
the 17th century, the inherited classical and biblical images of the city which inspired
the early visitors were gradually replaced with visual representations that the orientalist
painters believed were a more factually based documentation of Cairo and its architecture.
Employing nineteenth-​century Arabic literature, Kinda AlSamara in Chapter 12 offers
an opposite occidental view of the same subject by examining the observations made by
Egyptian intellectuals who visited Paris in the 19th century, a time when the two cities
of Paris and Cairo were often presented as icons of urbanism and later modernity. Her
chapter analyzes the notion of “tamaddun”, or urbanity, a newly developed term by these
Egyptian writers at the forefront of this wave of intellectual and urban progress which
was not simply about the city’s architectural and urban achievements but more about
intellectual ideas and legislative policies that changed its character.
Ahmed O. El-​Kholei sees Cairo as a complex city whose intangible culture has not
received the scholarly attention it deserves. In Chapter 13 he examines how Cairo is
portrayed in the spoken word, specifically in the folklore of famous sayings, proverbs,
poetry and songs to reveal this intangible dimension of the city. His analysis suggests that
such portrayals show the inter-​linkages between place and practice, and that more than
any other medium, Cairo’s iconic buildings stabilize memories of the individuals and the
community.
Mohammad Salama moves us to the arena of literature and novels and focuses his
Chapter 14 on the Trilogy of Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz. He argues that the Trilogy
stands out from all of Mahfouz’s work because it captures the distinctive intricacies of
the old city. Mahfouz focused his three novels on a multi-​generational middle-​class family

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Cairo: The State of a CIty

from Old Cairo, a stratum of the Egyptian society responsible for effecting major changes
in the course of modern Egyptian life. Salama analyzes the interactions between the sexes
and their attached spaces in the Old Fatimid City during a time of major change starting
with the 1919 revolution.
Ann Madoeuf continues with a similar theme in Chapter 15. By comparing and
contrasting literary and urban-​development texts, she examines how the old city was
depicted and shaped from the end of the 1950s to the beginning of the 21st century. Her
approach to achieve this objective is through analysis of a short story by Youssef Idris, a
novel by Gamal al-​Ghitani, and the text of a major park project undertaken in Cairo by
the Aga Khan Trust for Culture. Her analysis unfolds in the three phases, corresponding
to the time frames of each medium. She argues that these different texts, contextualized
by the city’s metamorphoses, highlight the rise and importance of Old Cairo’s heritage in
a global era. She sees UNESCO designation of Old Cairo in 1979 as a world heritage site
and the awarding of the Nobel literature Prize to Naguib Mahfouz in 1988 as two signs
of similar recognitions, differing in type and time, of the image of the city today.
In Chapter 16, I take on another important form of representation to understand
Cairo, films. The Egyptian film industry is among the oldest film industries in the world
and it has produced numerous films in which the city was both the stage and the actor.
I use Egyptian films from the 1930s to the end of the twentieth century to illustrate the
development of a modern Cairo and its modern subjects. In the process, I proceed with
the belief that “real” Cairo and “reel” Cairo are not that different. Through the analysis
of the films that show the transformation of the city from early modern times to the era
of neo-​liberal globalization, I conclude that what I call “Cinematic Cairo” and its phys-
ical counterpart are mutually constitutive and that the feature films of Cairo are among
the best resources to study its modernity.
Like the first section of the book, Dina Ezzat concludes this second section with an
essay about the events of Tahrir Square as seen through the minds and imaginaries of
selected residents of a famous Cairo district, during these important years. Using a jour-
nalistic approach and employing an oral history strategy, her Chapter 17 draws a pro-
file of a conflicted Cairo. Through their testimonies, she narrates their reflection on the
January Revolution of 2011 and the subsequent months and years of political upheaval
that have engulfed the city and divided its people during the many developments that
unfolded over a three-​year period from January 25 2011 to August 14, 2013.

Discourses
In recent years Cairo, as it has throughout its history, has been both blessed with great
events that instigated its progress, but it has also been cursed with man-​made disasters
including poor economic policies, social and gender controls, and bad planning decisions.
The last section of the book attempts to deal with current discourses about the contem-
porary city and, more specifically, with its problems and prospects.
We start with Sherifa Zuhur’s Chapter 18, which examines the contemporary practice
of veiling and the wearing of the hijab in Cairo, which spread throughout Egypt in the
late 1970s and early 1980s. During that time, women started adopting the hijab as a hair
cover and the niqab as a face cover in great numbers and the hijab came to be worn by
a vast majority of Cairene women, in what Zuhur calls the “reveiling” movement. The
hijab’s initial association with Islamist political movements has faded with the increasing
number of wearers. More recent efforts to discourage the niqab and the rise of rules

7
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Nezar AlSayyad

against its wearers in certain locations are a new and indicative discourse about the nature
of life in contemporary Cairo.
There are several parallel developments that occurred in Cairo at the same time,
starting from the latter decades of the 20th century, including the explosive growth of
its informal housing and the major development of gated communities, both forming
a ring around the city. Chapter 19 by Ahmed M. Soliman looks at the belt of urban
informal areas that surrounded the formal city by the end of the 20th century and which
now constitute the largest part of its urban fabric. He analyses these informal districts
and suggests that the integration between the modes of informal housing systems of pro-
duction, reproduction, consumption and distribution offers possibilities for a strategy of
sustainable transitions in spatial development and social structure.
Chapter 20 by David Sims looks at the other side of these developments, namely the
growth of the formal city into its desert backyard. Cairo has always had a relationship
with its publicly owned desert lands both to the east and the west of this city. To regulate
the use of this land, the government created the New Urban Communities Authority
(NUCA) and launched a bold new towns program to draw development away from
Cairo and the agricultural lands in the Nile Valley. His chapter reveals that this planning
strategy has not succeeded in achieving its goals and he analyzes the factors behind its
failure.
Spatial memory, gender dynamics and the transformation of residential
neighborhoods are important discourses in Cairo today and are covered in the book
by the three chapters that follow. Chapter 21 by Gehan Selim is a discussion of spa-
tial memory that looks at the role of centralized power in the everyday landscape. She
examines one of Cairo’s historic districts that became abandoned due to specific urban
conditions despite its stock of significant medieval structure.
She concludes by suggesting that new forms of public memory could be structured
and transferred among communities through intergenerational social outreach that
allows social stability and security, despite the ongoing ruptures of geographical exclu-
sion and segregation.
In Chapter 22 Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem deals with one of Cairo’s constant
features that has continued to exist throughout its history from medieval times to the pre-
sent and that is the traditional quarter or the “Harah”. His chapter traces the narratives
of the Cairene Harahs as an effective urban model, and as places of living that stitch the
unique fabric of tradition, culture and gender. He shows how the Harah in modern times
has become the battleground for intellectual and cultural reform in Egypt from the late
19th century onward.
Chapter 23 by Khaled Adham moves our discussion to the second half of the 20th cen-
tury and to “Mohandiseen”, an important neighborhood in greater Cairo. He explores
the socio-​spatial transformation of families in this model neighborhood, in which he
considers its residents to be primarily middle-​class. His chapter is concerned with the
role of housing acquisition for social reproduction and he shows how the transformation
in the structure of the family since the 1960s, and its relationship to the limited supply
of housing, might reshape our conception of social position and class itself. He also
argues that a change in the political economy of housing in Egypt during the 1970s has,
in turn, contributed to the transformation of the family social relationships, drafting a
new “familial contract”, particularly with regard to housing acquisition for young male
adults, which the social and cultural norms in Egypt make a necessity for them to enter
the institution of marriage.

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Cairo: The State of a CIty

Sahar Attia follows with Chapter 24, which is also concerned with the changes that
occurred in the politics of Cairo urban planning from a practitioner point of view. As
both a planner and a parliamentarian, she reflects on her experience as the lead designer
involved in one of Cairo’s important government projects, the so-​called Maspero Triangle
on the Nile close to Downtown Cairo. She discusses the sensitive relationship between
planners and their government patrons. She also explains how, as a planner, she is able to
inform predetermined political decisions that affect the remaking of the city while also
involving the urban stakeholders, when possible, to ensure the success of these projects.
She concludes that reshaping Cairo is a planning process that attempts inclusion but is
fundamentally fraught with compromise.
Like the two previous sections, this one concludes and ends the book with a return to
Tahrir Square. In Chapter 25, the late and influential scholar Mona Abaza, who passed
away unexpectedly during the production of this book, looks at the transformation of
public space and argues that Cairo witnessed unprecedented transformations in the period
between the revolution of January 2011 and the popularly supported military takeover of
July 2013. She suggests that the earlier events in Tahrir had the effect of revolutionizing
the notion of public space in which the city becomes a “stage” for public performances
and, hence, public confrontations. Her chapter reinvigorates the debates about Cairene’s
loss of their “right to the city” after a limited period in which they exercised it to the
fullest.
It seems then that Cairo’s move from its histories to its representations and finally to
its discourses comes to an end also in Tahrir Square, the quintessential space of contem-
porary Cairo.

References
AlSayyad, N. (2007 edition). “Cairo.” The Encyclopedia Britannica. Encyclopedia Britannica.
AlSayyad, N. (2009).Whose Cairo, in Singerman, D., and Amar, P. (eds), Cairo Cosmopolitan: Politics,
Culture, and Urban Space in the New Globalized Middle East. AUC Press.
AlSayyad, N. (2011). Cairo: Histories of a City. Harvard University Press.

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2
AL-​QATA’Iʿ
A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

Tarek Swelim

The city of al-​Qata’iʿ was founded by Ahmad Ibn Tulun in 870 AD. When Ibn Tulun
was appointed as wali “governor” of Egypt, he focused his efforts on establishing a firm
authoritarian state.1 First, he took control of Egypt’s treasury and, second, control of
the mail system between Egypt and Baghdad. These two strategic moves allowed him to
control information sent to the capital, and so to persuade the Caliph to deem him trust-
worthy. Also, he was able to make Egypt financially –​and consequently, politically –​inde-
pendent from the ʿAbbasid Caliphate. This was the first time that Egypt had this level of
independence since the Roman conquest in 30 BC. Prior to that, Egypt had been simply
a province among many others, the situation that the Arab conquest by ʿAmr Ibn al-​ʿAs
in 640–​641 AD did not change.
Ahmad Ibn Tulun was brought up in the City of Samarrả, the new imperial capital
founded in AD 836, where the body of elite Turks resided. Samarrả was a glamorous
city, populated with palaces, villas, elaborate racing courses, mosques and great places of
entertainment. Undoubtedly, he must have loved his lifestyle in Samarrả. Once he was
appointed as wali of Egypt, he embarked on building a dream city for himself, one that
would match his beloved Samarrả; that city became known as al-​Qata’iʿ in AH 256/​870
AD.2 It became the third Islamic capital of Egypt after al-​Fustat and al-​ʿAskar.
An account by the 10th-​century historian al-​Balawi also gives a more practical reason
for building the new city. When Ibn Tulun triumphantly returned to Egypt after defeating
Ibn Shaykh in Bilad al-​Sham, he found that his retinue of slaves and his army of 100,000
men had increased considerably, leading to the overcrowding in the existing barracks. Ibn
Tulun therefore decided to build a city that would accommodate the entire population.
We know about the splendor of al-​Qata’iʿ from historical accounts, but archeological
evidence is scant; save its great mosque, the flourishing city was utterly destroyed by the
military invasion led by the ʿAbbasid general Ahmad Sulayman al-​Katib in the year AH
292/​905 AD.

The Layout of the City and its Elements

The location of the al-​Qata’iʿ was northeast of cities of al-​Fustat and al-​ʿAskar, in an
area that was well protected by several natural features. These included Birkat al-​Fil

10 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-3
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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

al-​Sughra “Small Lake of the Elephant” on the north and Birkat al-​Fil al-​Kubra “Grand
Lake of the Elephant” on the northwestern boundary. The northeastern boundary was
left open, probably to allow for the flow of merchant traffic and expansion of the city in
that direction. In the south there was a considerable topographic depression in the dir-
ection of the city of al-​Fustat. In the east was the hill where the Citadel of Cairo was
later built, and even further east were the Muqattam Hills, while on the west were the
hills of Kiman Tulun, which are also known as the Zinhum Hills, and the hills of Qalʿat
al-​Kabsh. Further westward was the Birkat Qarun “Lake of Qarun” and the famous
canal of al-​Khalij al-​Masri, as in Figure 2.1.3
The new city was divided into districts, each assigned to a tribe, ethnic group or the
social class of the residents who accompanied Ibn Tulun from Samarrả to Egypt and
named after them. This social and spatial composition explains why the city was called
al-​Qata’iʿ, which means “a district”, “an allotment”, “a ward” or “a quarter”.
The quarters were divided into streets “sikak” and narrow alleys “aziqqa”, with
mosques “masajid”, mills “tawahin”, public baths “hammamat” and bakeries “afran” as
well. Some of the quarters were for the different servants of the palace “farrashin”, the
Sudanese people “al-​sudan”, the Nubians “al-​nuba”, the Greeks “al-​rum”, and a certain
district named Harun.4 In addition, the young slaves “ghilman” also had their own dis-
trict. Today, it is impossible to locate where these districts were within the city.

1. The Aqueduct
Ibn Tulun had an aqueduct built in the south of the city.5 Balawi describes it as being a
“proper” structure and states that the construction cost 40,000 dinars.6 He adds that it was
built using a treasure that Ibn Tulun discovered at the site of tannawr firʿawn “Lantern of
the Pharaoh” in the Muqattam Hills.7 We know where the aqueduct of Ibn Tulun started.
Its remains can still be seen in the area known today as Bir Umm al-​Sultan “Well of the
Sultan’s Mother”, south of Cairo.8 Unfortunately, we do not know exactly where the aque-
duct of Ibn Tulun terminated. However, one may assume that it would have ended some-
where close to where the Citadel of Cairo was later built, and where Ibn Tulun’s palace
and al-​maydan were located (see Figures 2.1 and 2.2).9 Balawi stated that the aqueduct
was built for the needy and that Ibn Tulun ordered it to be opened all day and all night, so
apparently it was meant as a water source for the whole city, not only the palace.10

2. The Bimaristan
The historians Balawi, Maqrizi and Ibn Duqmaq state that Ibn Tulun ordered the
building of the bimaristan “hospital” for sick people in 259/​872–​873. Balawi informs us
that it was constructed in AH 261/​874–​875 AD at a cost of 60,000 dinars, reportedly
coming from a treasure discovered in the desert.11 It appears from historical sources that
the bimaristan was a very well-​organized enterprise.12 Unfortunately, the sources do not
provide information about the layout and architecture of the hospital.13 Maqrizi stated
that the bimaristan was located in the desert area of the (then destroyed) city of al-​ʿAskar.
He noted that that location was between the mosque of Ibn Tulun and the mound of
Kum al-​Jarih and between Qantarat al-​Sadd overlooking the al-​Khalij canal, and the wall
separating the Qarafa (southern cemetery) from the city of Misr (i.e., al-​Fustat).14 In
another reference, he describes it as close to the Birkat Qarun lake.15 For its assumed loca-
tion, see Figures 2.1 and 2.2.16

11
 newgenrtpdf
12
Tarek Swelim
12

Figure 2.1 New updated bird’s-​eye imaginary view of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking from south to north.
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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

Figure 2.2 Outline of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking from south to north.

3. The al-​Maydan: Royal Palace and the Open Parade Ground

According to Ibn Duqmaq and al-​Maqrizi, Ibn Tulun began the foundation of his palace
(qasrahu) and playground (malʿab) in 256/​869. Balawi states that Ibn Tulun built his
palace, had it enlarged, improved and/​or beautified and then incorporated in its grounds a
magnificent maydan, “open parade ground”, where polo games were performed, “yudrab
fihi bi’l-​sawalija”.17 Ibn Duqmaq and al-​Maqrizi locate the palace/​parade ground of Ibn
Tulun at al-​Maydan al-​Sultani, which in their time was the great public square below the
Citadel of Cairo. Therefore, one may visualize the site of al-​Maydan to be located where
1,150 years later a huge open space still stretches south of the great Madrasa of Sultan
Hasan. Al-​Maqrizi declares that it was located below a domed building known as Qubbat
al-​Hawa’ (which will be discussed below). He says that the site of Maydan al-​Rumayla,
where during his lifetime (14th century) horses, donkeys and camels were traded, was ori-
ginally a huge garden (bustan) during the Tulunid period. Close to this garden was the site
of al-​Maydan, which at the time of al-​Maqrizi was called al-​Qubaybat “small domes”.18
According to Maqrizi, within the palace quarters there was the building of Dar
al-​Haram, “Women’s Palace”.19 However, it is not known where that building was located
or what it looked like. One tends to believe that this building should be located some-
where close to Bab al-​Haram (mentioned below), which was intended to be used by
the women and their eunuch servants. On this basis, it can be argued that the Dar al-​
Haram was part of the great complex of the Al-​Maydan/​Palace. Logically, the women of
the royal family would have had their residence close to the royal residential palace used
by Ibn Tulun himself and the male members of the royal family. For the layout of the
palace of Ibn Tulun, see Figures 2.2 and 2.3.20

13
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Tarek Swelim

Figure 2.3 An imaginary view of Ibn Tulun’s royal palace, the al-​Maydan (open parade ground)
and gates.

14
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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

When Ahmad Ibn Tulun died in 884 AD, he was succeeded by his legendary son,
Khumarawiyyah who inherited the fabulous wealth of his father but was weaker and had
the habit to indulge in eccentricities and the extreme pleasures of life.21 Maqrizi informs
us that Khumarawiyyah enlarged the palace of his father (qasr abihi) and converted the
whole Maydan into a bustan (garden) which had tropical trees, roses, jasmine, lilies and
shrubs planted in it. Dissatisfied with the straight sightlines of trees, Khumarawiyyah
ordered that every tree have its trunk and branches coated in sheets of gilded copper,
which were lined with lead water pipes, so that every tree was not only a gilded lily but a
pretty fountain running through the shady gardens, which included exotic trees and fruits
and a pigeon house.22
Because Khumarawiyyah converted his father’s open parade ground into a bustan,
he built another, even larger, parade ground.23 He also built another domical pavilion
in his palace which he called al-​Dikka. He had it furnished with different types of fur-
niture, curtains and carpets, which were changed according to the season of the year.
The pavilion was located inside the palace complex and probably near to his residence.
Khumarawiyyah used this pavilion frequently, and he would sit there and admire the
view of his botanical gardens and trees, as well as the city, the hills, the River Nile and the
desert –​which indicates an elevated location.
Maqrizi continues this account by adding that walls of the palace of Khumarawiyyah
were decorated with sheets of gold, studded with lapis lazuli (bil-​dhahab al-​mujawal bil-​
azaward).24 Khumarawiyyah was a romantic person, who loved his wife “Buran” a great
deal and therefore erected for her a beautiful pavilion called “House of Gold” (Bayt al-​
Dhahab), which was entirely lined with gold.25 Inside the pavilion were wooden statues of
himself as well as his wives. The statues were slightly larger than life-​size and were clothed
in textiles woven of gold threads. Khumarawiyyah’s own statue had golden trousers, and
his turban was encrusted with jewels. Every evening Khumarawiyyah would sit on the
terrace of the House of Gold or in his great bustan listening to the poets reciting or to his
favorite female slaves singing.26
The extent of Khumarawiyyah’s luxurious life had no end. He “conceived what
was probably the ultimate in sybaritic self-​indulgence”,27of any other ruler in Egypt.
According to chroniclers, since he suffered from insomnia, his physicians advised that
he ought to be rocked gently to sleep every night. Khumarawiyyah went to the extreme,
ordering a pool of fifty cubits in length by fifty in width in his Bayt al-​Dhahab filled with
mercury (or quicksilver),28 where he would sleep on a mattress of air-​inflated skins tied to
the edges of the pool with silken cords, rocked to sleep with the gentle movement of mer-
cury. Maqrizi adds that when moonlight shone on his pool of mercury, its reflection gave
the most admirable effect.29 Whether the details are true or not, it is remarkable how, for
centuries, Khumarawiyyah was remembered as the epitome of luxurious life.
Khumarawiyyah’s love for the exotic culminates in his magnificent zoo. He had a
place known as the “Lion House” Bayt al-​Asad, which had cages (equipped with running
water) housing lions and lionesses.30 Al-​Maqrizi adds that the most extraordinary of the
reportedly well-​trained lions was Khumarawiyyah’s own pet, called Zouraik (the little
blue-​eyed one), which always slept next to his master as his bodyguard. Khumarawiyyah
gave him a collar of gold and fed him chickens and goats. Khumarawiyyah had chambers
built in his zoo in the city of al-​Qata’iʿ for other animals, too: for ponies (bighal), tigers
(numur), leopards (fuhud), giraffes (zarafat) and elephants (fiyala).31 Khumarawiyyah’s
zoo appears to have been well built, organized, and to have had well-​trained animals. He

15
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Tarek Swelim

Figure 2.4 An imaginary view of Khumarawiyyah’s royal complex, his gardens and zoo.

thus created a world that Egypt had not seen since the time of the Ancient Egyptians.
This was indeed a unique moment in Egypt’s history.32 Figure 2.4 shows an imaginary
view of the Khumarawiyyah’s royal palace complex, his gardens and zoo.33
From all these sources, we may understand that the first section of the royal quarter
would be the palace by itself. During the time of Ibn Tulun, among its buildings one was

16
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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

allocated for himself and his khassa (bodyguards, entourage and/​or close companions),
and another was for his harim (female members of his family and their children) and their
eunuchs.
During the time of his son, Khumarawiyyah, the palace incorporated the domed
pavilion of al-​Dikka, where Khumarawiyyah used to enjoy his time. Another new domed
pavilion was called the Bayt al-​Dhahab or House of Gold, with gilded walls and statues.
It also had a reflecting pool in an outdoor terrace, reportedly filled with mercury. Such
splendid luxurious buildings had never existed in Egypt before. The second section would
be the open parade ground of the Maydan, where tournaments and public activities
would take place. The original Maydan of Ibn Tulun was converted by Khumarawiyyah
into a splendid botanical garden with exotic trees and plants and an outstanding zoo.34
Trying to visualize the original layout of the maydan and the place of Ibn Tulun (and
their later modifications by his son Khumarawiyyah) immediately reveals how incom-
plete our information is.35
The original maydan was undoubtedly located below the area where the Citadel of
Cairo was later built, on the site of the Qaramaydan that remains an open space. However,
its exact size and shape are not clear. Art historians have erroneously accepted the trans-
lation of the word “al-​Maydan” to mean “hippodrome”.36 The term “hippodrome” refers
to a horse racing course for chariots in ancient Greek times, which continued with the
name in Roman times. However, the word “al-​Maydan” has several meanings, such as
“public square”, “open space”, “battlefield”, “playground” or “race-​course.” Therefore,
al-​Maydan was intended for public functions and activities such as polo games, mili-
tary parades, civil acts of charity and public performances; a better understanding of
al-​Maydan would be an “Open Parade Ground”.37
In my earlier study on the subject, I envisioned al-​Maydan to be in the form of a
modern horseracing elongated field with semi-​circular shorter ends. It is worth noting
that the ancient Roman circuses had only one side semi-​circular with the other straight
or just slightly concave.38 It is doubtful whether the classical antique tradition had much
influence on the polo-​playing and any other equestrian exercises in the Islamic world.39
The venues would not be geared for track horseracing or for chariot races, and the per-
haps most famous and grandest polo field of all, the Maydan i-​Shah in Isfahan, is per-
fectly rectangular, like modern polo fields.
It could be generally accepted that the later Qaramaydan corresponded to the area of
Ibn Tulun’s Maydan. However, the original dimensions of the Qaramaydan of Cairo (as
an indication of Ibn Tulun’s Maydan size) are difficult to establish. Although it remains
a huge open space, it has changed over time. The Description de l’Egypte map shows city
blocks apparently built into the southern part of the space, and its original southern limit
is unclear, especially that the Mansheya Prison was later built in the southern section
of the square. Similarly, the north-​western corner is shown as built up with houses. The
placement of the “Bab Qaramaydan” on the map and the street towards Sayyida ‘Aisha
aligned with the edge of the open space suggest that the original width was about 160–​
170 meters. The length of the original “hippodrome” appears to have been over 600
meters, perhaps as much as 650 m. When compared to other famous ones, we find that
the Maydan i-​Shah in Isfahan measures 160 by 560 meters. The grandest ancient circuses
were of comparable size: Circus Maximus in Rome ca. 120 × 600 m, the Hippodrome in
Istanbul ca. 130 × 450 m, although much smaller venues were also built, e.g. in Gerash,
53 × 245 m. An example from Roman Egypt, the hippodrome in the city of Antinopolis,
measured 77 × 307 meters according to the scholars of the Napoleonic expedition who

17
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Tarek Swelim

were still able to see and record it. Therefore, our maydan of Ibn Tulun was of a compar-
able size as it was one of the largest, at least in the region.
Maqrizi mentions that Khumarawiyyah built another maydan, even larger than his
father’s, and that he converted the original one into a garden. One would have to imagine
where it was located. But huge circuses and similar monumental venues for public events
tend to leave remarkably distinct footprints on the urban fabric of cities even after cen-
turies of transformations; they are prominently visible in any aerial image.40 So, the
question remains, where is the location of the larger one?
One would then have to ask where the maydan of Khumarawiyyah could be located?
To the east of the original maydan was the palace, and, behind it, steep cliffs. To the south
stood newly erected monumental tombs, probably in a larger earlier cemetery. To the
west was the city, and, beyond it, hilly landscape to the south-​west, and seasonal lakes
to the north-​west. The new “hippodrome” could therefore be to the north, somewhere
around the later Suq al-​Silah or Mugharbilin. It would also be strange, however, if the
new maydan was built there, and had totally disappeared without the slightest trace.
Another possible location is further north, in what became the Fatimid al-​Qahira.
However, it is strange that Maqrizi, with his particular interest in Fatimid history, did
not mention anything about where the new maydan of Khumarawiyyah was located.
Unfortunately, we will never know. This may lead one to think further about the layout of
Ibn Tulun’s palace. Now we have no clue. However, because we do know that Ibn Tulun
wanted to build a small Samarrả for himself, he was inclined to imitate the Great Mosque
of al-​Mutawakkil (851 AD) and that of Abu Dulaf (859) in Samarrả with his mosque in
Qata’iʿ. Then we may assume that the grand residences of Samarrả influenced the design
of Ibn Tulun’s.
According to Ettinghausen and Grabar, the most striking feature of the Caliphal
palaces in Samarra is their size.

All are huge walled compounds with endless successions of apartments, courts,
rooms, halls, and passageways, whose functions are not known … a palace the
size of a city. Second, each has clearly defined parts. There is always a spec-
tacular gate … On the axis of the main entrance a series of courts generally leads
to the main reception area, which is cruciform. A central domed room opens on
four iwans which, in turn, open on four courts. … It is a hidden and secluded
world, completely self-​sufficient … its splendor barely visible from outside.41

In addition, Hillenbrand describes the palace of Balkuwara (849–​860), by saying:

Its colossal size … is kept under iron control … various parts of the palace
are rationally related. … Hierarchy is the leitmotif of the ensemble, … Islamic
palace as a luxuriously refurbished Roman camp.42

We can reasonably assume that Ibn Tulun’s palace was a series of various rooms around
multiple courtyards, rather than a single free-​standing building. We can also assume
that at the core of the palace was a grand reception/​throne hall, probably cruciform and
domed, and that the most important parts of the palace were very formally planned,
although such strictly arranged units could be joined into an irregular whole. In the
Jawsaq al-​Khaqani palace in Samarrả, the section believed to house the harim forms a
fortified enclosure within the palace, which might well also have been the case here.

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

A recuring feature of all early Islamic palaces is a sequence of gates and courtyards
leading up to the throne hall. These palaces therefore had a long straight axis leading to
the central space. Consequently, the plan was invariably a rectangle with the entrance
gate in its shorter side. This is true even in the Umayyad palaces such as those in Mshatta
and in Kufa, where, within the overall square plan of the enclosure, the palace proper is
a rectangle entered from the short side.
Perhaps the main gate was not from the maydan, but from the shorter side of the rect-
angle –​this would be in line with the prevailing design. The southern side faced al-​ʿAskar
and al-​Fustat, while a gate on the northern side would open onto the trade road to Bilad
al-​Sham, the Hijaz and/​or even to the caliphal capital in Iraq. What were the locations of
the various structures that sources say Khumarawiyya erected within the palace? Again,
the answer is, we do not know!

4. The Gates of Al-​Maydan

Balawi describes Al-​Maydan as having many babs, or gates. Each gate of the palace
had a specific name and specific hours of operation. The hours on which these gates
would remain open or were closed on any day were well known.43 The following is a brief
description of the gates:

Bab al-​Maydan or Bab al-​Sawalija:

This gate had a double name: Bab al-​Maydan (Gate of the Open Parade Ground)
and Bab al-​Sawalija (Gate of the Polo Mallets). Balawi states that the majority of
the army would enter and exit the palace area from the Bab al-​Maydan. It is likely
that this gate would be used by those playing polo, and since they were mostly
members of the army, one would imagine it to be located in between the palace
and the Open Parade Ground, i.e. on the eastern part of the open parade ground.

Bab al-​Khassa (Gate of the Noble Men):

This was only used by the upper-​class folk and the nobles closely connected to
Ibn Tulun. The khassa may also be considered the ruler’s bodyguards, as in the
later Mamluk period they were referred to as the Khasakiya. This gate was likely
located on the eastern side of the Open Parade Ground.

Bab al-​Haram (Gate of the Women’s Quarters):

This gated was restricted to the harim, the women who were closely associated
to Ibn Tulun, as well as the female members of his family and their eunuch
servants.44 Bab al-​Haram was probably located on the eastern side of the Open
Parade Ground, as it led directly to Dar al-​Haram.

Bab al-​Gabal (Gate of the Hill):

The name of this gate makes us safely assume that “the hill” meant the famous
Muqattam Hills, and that the gate led eastward in that direction; that it is likely
that it was also located on the eastern side, near the gates previously mentioned.

Bab al-​Daramun (Gate of the Daramun):

This gate was named after a hajib, “gatekeeper”, who sat in that spot. Balawi
describes the gatekeeper as a large fellow of “black complexion” and a court

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Tarek Swelim

official whose job was to punish the male Sudanese ghulams (boys) and the men
for their crimes. Therefore, this man kept order between the factions and the
ethnic groups.

Bab al-​Da’naj (Gate of the Da’naj):

The gate was also named after another gatekeeper, who sat next to the gate.
He had similar tasks, to keep order between the ethnic groups, although details
cannot be confirmed.

Bab al-​Saj (Gate of the Teak Wood):

The gate derived its name from the wood from which the door was made. From
what is mentioned above we can safely assume that Bab al-​Daramun, Bab al-​
Da’naj and Bab al-​Saj were all located on the western side of the Open Parade
Ground, to maintain the symmetry of the plan, corresponding to the idea
that three gates were located on the eastern side, and three were located on the
western side, as can be seen in Figure 2.3.

Bab al-​Salah (Gate of Prayer):

This was the most spectacular of all the gates. Balawi relates that Ibn Tulun
ordered a wall to be built across from the street known as the Shariʿ al-​Aʿzam,
“the Great Street”, which was the main street of the city of al-​Qata’iʿ leading
to the mosque of Ibn Tulun.45 This is why it was called Bab al-​Salah, as Ibn
Tulun would lead the way to prayer from there (this is discussed further below).
Balawi describes Bab al-​Salah to have had three entryways/​passages/​gates that
Ibn Tulun ordered by piercing that wall, and that the openings were as large as
any of the other gates that were built. Al-​Maqrizi explains that these gates were
set-​out side-​by-​side and were connected to each other.46 He also says that it was
located at the beginning of the Suq al-​Dawab (Animal Market) at his time and
was known by the name of Thalathat Abwab (Triple Gates). In other words, they
were formed of a triple-​arched gate, like the triumphal gates of the Roman era.
If his statement is correct, then it would have been the only triple-​arched gate
in Egypt.

Ibn Tulun would walk through the central arch, while his troops would use the lateral
ones.47 In addition, the building might have been a replica of the triple-​arched entrance of
Bab al-​‘Amma of the Jawsaq al-​Khaqani built by the Caliph al-​Mutawakkil in Samarrả,
which Ibn Tulun must have seen before coming to Egypt.48 The arrangement of having
a majlis on top of Bab al-​Salah or Bab al-​Sibaʿ is also reflective of the layout of Bab al-​
ʿAmma of the Jawsaq al-​Khaqani, which had the same arrangement.
We can assume that the only triumphal arch in Egypt that survived during the Tulunid
period was that at the city of Antinopolis (at the village of Shaykh ʿAbada, in Upper Egypt
today). It was built by the Roman Emperor Hadrian in 130 AD (the city of Alexandria
did not have a dominant triumphal arch). It is likely that Ibn Tulun might have visited
Antinopolis and was impressed by the structure. However, if Ibn Tulun had not seen the
gate at Antinopolis, then one might expect that he had seen similar ones either during
his travels before his arrival in Egypt, or on his military campaigns in Bilad al-​Sham.
Examples of these are at Antalia, now in southern Turkey, which was close to the city of

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

Tarsus where Ibn Tulun learned jurisprudence. In addition, he might have seen the tri-
umphal arches of the Roman-​like cities of Palmyra, in the eastern desert of Syria, and
Bosra in southern Syria, as well as the gates of Hadrian and Trajan at Gerash in Jordan.
Balawi describes Bab al-​Salah as having been decorated with two lions, “Sibu’ayn”, made
of stucco, “min al-​jibs”, and for that reason the same gate was also known as Bab al-​Sibaʿ
(Gate of the Lions).49
Unfortunately, there are no descriptions of this gate, except that it was adorned with
the stucco lion figures. There is no way of knowing how these lions were placed or how
they appeared. However, I have speculated elsewhere that they were three-​dimensional
statues of lions which would have been seen from both sides of the gate, perhaps sphinx
statues. However, no sphinxes made of stucco could have survived from Ancient Egypt
until the Tulunid period. Therefore, the idea of the lions being Ancient Egyptian-​style
sphinxes is rather spurious, unless we assume that Balawi mistook weathered limestone
for stucco.
A final thought. If the two lion figures that decorated the walls of the gate were only of
heads, this arrangement would be reminiscent of the waterspouts in the Greco-​Roman-​
period Egyptian-​style temples in Upper Egypt. To conclude, there is no way of knowing
the nature of those stucco lion figures which so impressed the historians who wrote about
them. Above the triple-​arched building of Bab al-​Salah or Bab al-​Sibaʿ was a majlis,
“seating area”, perhaps a pavilion where Ibn Tulun sat to view the city of al-​Qata’iʿ. On
celebrated evenings, such as the night before the Feast, Ibn Tulun would watch the activ-
ities of his young male servants.50 The location of Bab al-​Salah or Bab al-​Sibaʿ in relation
to the main street of Shariʿal-​Aʿzam will be discussed further.

5. The Tombs of Ibn Tulun and Khumarawiyyah

The Mamluk historian Ibn al-​Zayyat (AH 813/​1411AD) states that the tomb of Ibn
Tulun is the smallest of the two tombs standing in the area close to Bab al-​Qarafa.51 It is
strange that no information about Ibn Tulun’s tomb is provided by Balawi, Ibn Duqmaq
or al-​Maqrizi. Nevertheless, we may speculate that it stood in the vicinity of the shrine of
Sayyida ‘A’isha, which is today opposite Bab al-​Qarafa.52
In my earlier study, I believed that it was rather strange about what Ibn al-​Zayat says,
since there is no reason to believe that such an ambitious ruler would choose a small
tomb for himself, after he had founded an entire city to commemorate his name and
founded a dynasty of his own. It is, therefore, almost impossible to believe that Ibn Tulun
was humble enough to choose to build a small dome, especially when a larger one was
next to it.53 Therefore, one may assume that Ibn al-​Zayat was certainly mistaken in his
account. Indeed, there is no way of knowing how the tomb of Ibn Tulun looked, as no
information is given about it by any of the historians. However, in my previous study
I assumed it must have resembled the Qubbat al-​Saliybiyya in Samarrả.54
The tomb of Ibn Tulun was likely located in the main cemetery area of the city,
according to Ibn Duqmaq and al-​ Maqrizi. In al-​ Qata’iʿ there was a cemetery for
Christians and Jews, which Ibn Tulun ordered to be destroyed (hadama).55 This, as earlier
proposed, must have been directly south of al-​Maydan of the city of al-​Qata’iʿ.56 The
tomb of Ibn Tulun would be seen from the area of al-​Maydan and would always bear
the memory of Ibn Tulun and his glorious period, as can be seen in Figures 2.1 and 2.2.57
From an architectural point of view, this would have been most successful.

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6. The Street of Shariʿ al-​Aʿzam

Balawi describes the city of al-​Qata’iʿ as having a main street called Shariʿ al-​Aʿzam (the
Greatest Street),58 which was wide and linked the palace with the mosque of Ibn Tulun.
The street started from Bab al-​Salah/​Bab al-​Sibaʿ and winded all the way to the mosque
of Ibn Tulun. Balawi states that Ibn Tulun would walk along Shariʿ al-​Aʿzam and would
wind his way through it, “yuʿarraj minhu”, to reach his palace.59 It was, therefore, a cere-
monial procession. The Shariʿ al-​Aʿzam was directly derived from the main street in
Samarrả, which bore the same name and was mentioned by al-​Yaʿqubi.60 Although al-​
Yaʿqubi does not describe any ceremonial processions taking place along that street in
Samarrả, one expects that it was used for the same purpose since such ceremonies were
an established custom.
From the general descriptions and studies of Islamic Egypt, we know that the Fatimid
city of al-​Qahira never changed the paths or lengths of its streets. This was determined by
the waqf (endowment deed) system of land properties and ownership. The seminal page
of each waqf document usually describes the limits of the property from its four sides,
which is a detailed and legal document that was always highly respected by the judges,
the courts and the religious law (Shariʿah). From this perspective, it is not impossible to
trace the layout and direction of Shariʿal-​Aʿzam, since it was the main artery of the city
of al-​Qata’iʿ. Therefore, it might be traced from Dar al-​Imara and mosque of Ibn Tulun,
toward the open area where al-​Maydan would have been located.
With this possibility in mind, an exercise could be explored by looking at the historical
maps of Cairo, from the time of the Description de l’Egypte until the modern period. By
examining those maps, we find that the only street which starts at Dar al-​Imara and goes
eastward in a zigzag way is the street known as Shariʿ al-​Hosar. If this were true, then
we can be confident in suggesting that Shariʿ Darb al-​Hosar was in fact the same Shariʿ
Aʿzam of Ibn Tulun, and that its name changed over time. It may therefore be considered
as the oldest continuous surviving and ongoing street in Islamic Cairo (Egypt). The exact
path of the Shariʿal-​Aʿzm, corresponding to Shariʿ Darb al-​Hosar, is seen in Figures 2.1
and 2.2.61 This would take us back to the location of Bab al-​Salah or Bab al-​Sibaʿ. The
spot where the street starts on the east must correspond to the exact location of Bab al-​
Salah. Therefore, its location could not be right in the middle of the side of the Open
Parage Ground that faced the city but shifted to the north, as in Figures 2.1, 2.2, 2.3
and 2.7.62

7. The Tomb of Sidi Harun

The Mamluk historian Ibn Duqmaq states that the tomb of the Prophet Harun (Aaron –​
the brother of Moses) was said to be located next to the gate of the mosque of Ibn Tulun.63
One may assume that the tomb, which is referred to by Ibn Duqmaq, was at the site of
the small tomb at the eastern corner of the mosque of Ibn Tulun adjacent to the Gayer
Anderson House/​Museum.64 An inscription above its portal identifies the building as the
maqam (tomb) of Sidi Harun al-​Husayni, who is also known as Harun Ibn al-​Husayn, a
great-​grandson of the Prophet Muhammad, the grand-​son of ʿAli and Fatima and son
of al-​Husayn.65 There probably was some confusion over time between the name of the
Prophet Harun and that of Harun, the great-​grandson of the Prophet Muhammad.
In my previous study, I offered an imaginary reconstruction of this tomb that is based
on the Fatimid tombs in Aswan, built in the 11th century. However, these were built after

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

the time of Ibn Tulun, which makes us believe they might have been influenced by the
tombs of the al-​Bagawat cemetery in the Kharga Oasis, which were built between the 3rd
and 7th centuries AD.66 The importance of the tomb is that it forms part of the complex
of the mosque of Ibn Tulun and Dar al-​Imara, which will be discussed below.67

8. Dar al-​Imara
When Ahmad Ibn Tulun arrived in Egypt, he resided in the administrative office
building known as Dar al-​Imara of the then capital city of al-​ʿAskar.68 After he
established himself in Egypt, he started building his royal palace and left the old Dar
al-​Imara of al-​ʿAskar. According to al-​Maqrizi, Dar al-​Imara was built on the south-
eastern side of the mosque of Ibn Tulun. Balawi states that Ahmad Ibn Tulun entered
Dar al-​Imara and performed his ablutions, then changed his garments and robes and
perfumed himself with incense, adding that after such preparations and rituals, Ibn
Tulun went out of its door to pray in the maqsura of the mosque, and Maqrizi confirms
Balawi’s narrative.69 Balawi states that Dar al Imara was decorated and furnished with
curtains and other kinds of implements and containers filled with various liquids were
carried to its storerooms with everything that was needed70 (Figures 2.1, 2.2 and 2.7).
Unfortunately, we will never know how Dar al-​Imara looked. However, in my earlier
study, I offered an imaginary reconstruction of the building, which showed that it must
have been limited to the area behind the mosque’s qibla wall and the street, as follows.71
It must have had an open court to allow light and the circulation of air. It must have had
entrances on each side, with security guards protecting them. The building would have
been divided into official chambers for meetings and offices for administrative purposes.
In the section close to the mosque wall, there were chambers where Ibn Tulun would per-
form his ablutions and therefore needed to have a source of potable water.72

9. The Mosque of Ibn Tulun

The Mosque of Ibn Tulun was built in 265/​868 from a treasure he claimed he found
while hunting. The mosque had a plan like that of today. However, its original interior
was slightly different. I offered a reconstruction to show that it is a rectangle within a
square, where the mosque proper is surrounded by a ziyada (additional area) on three
sides.73 The walls of the ziyada and that of the mosque were adorned by large entrances,
corresponding to each other. It had an original spiral-​shaped minaret standing right
in the middle of the north-​western side, and along the same axis of the mihrab. Two
buildings stood symmetrically, on both sides of the minaret, a mayda’a “ablution place”
on one side, and a building known as the khizanat sharab, which one understands to
have been a clinic-​pharmacy, on the other. Inside, there is a large sahn (open court),
surrounded by riwaqs (arcades) on four sides. These were built of thick robust rect-
angular piers that supported pointed arches. Those on the qibla side were deeper than
the other three. In the middle of the sahn stood the original Tulunid fawwara (domical
fountain). It, too, was on the same axis of the mihrab. It was also unique, as it served
as the place of the adhan (call for prayer) and was also a place where children prayed
on Fridays. The qibla riwaq had a maqsura area, which Ibn Tulun and his entourage
used during prayers. Behind the qibla wall was Dar al-​Imara, which was limited by
the present-​day Tulun Street. Below the ceiling of the mosque was a wooden frieze of

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Tarek Swelim

Figure 2.5 A reconstructed plan of the original mosque of Ibn Tulun in the ninth century.

Koranic inscriptions, which covered the entire length of the mosque, and which were the
longest Koranic inscriptions in Islamic architecture anywhere. The mosque was built to
represent the great mosque of Samarrả, where Ibn Tulun used to pray every Friday when
he lived in that favorite city.74 A reconstructed plan of the original mosque of Ibn Tulun
can be seen in Figure 2.5.75

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

10. The Suqs of the City

Balawi lists different markets or “suqs” in the center of the city.76 His list includes suq al-​
‘ayyarin, where gold and silver were weighed, suq al-​‘attarin, the market of the perfume
sellers, spice dealers and medical herbs, and suq al-​bazzazin, which was the cloth market
for linen and other fabrics. In addition, there were food markets like suq al-​famiyyin, for
peas; al-​jazzarin (the butchers); al-​baqqallin (for legumes and vegetables); al-​shawwayyin,
where coal-​roasted, grilled meat and barbeque could be bought. Likewise, there was suq
al-​tabbakhin, which was the market of the cooks and it included the sayarif, who were
the money-​changers. Lastly there were al-​khabbazin (the bakers) and al-​halawayyin (the
pastry makers). Ibn Duqmaq and Maqrizi comment that Ibn Tulun established a few
markets, one of which was a private white-​slave market, “suq al-​raqiq al-​abyad”, and an
inalienable property, habs, for the bimaristan as well as other properties such as dar al-​
diwan, and the market of shoemakers, “suq al-​asakifa”, together with an unnamed cara-
vanserai, “qaisariyya”.77
Historical records tell us that the markets were in the center of the city. However, they
do not give their exact locations and their distributions in al-​Qata’iʿ. Still, we know of
the distribution of markets in Samarrả, based on the historical accounts of al-​Yaʿqubi,
who mentions that in Samarrả the markets were in the central area of the city and around
the main congregational mosque.78 Therefore it may be assumed that the markets were
probably located in the center of the city and around the mosque of Ibn Tulun.79 We will
never know the exact location of these markets.

11. Qubbat al-​Hawa’

Balawi mentions that there was a domical building built near Muqattam Hills called
Qubbat al-​Hawa’ and that it overlooked the entire city. He states that it had originally
been built for the Caliph al-​Ma’mun during his visit to Egypt, and before his death in
832 AD.80 In another passage he adds that the building belonged to Ibn Tulun and that it
overlooked the Nile and all the land of the city.
It appears that Qubbat al-​Hawả was used as a residence, or a pleasure kiosk, which was
oriented towards the strong, fresh north winds of the city. During the Tulunid period, it
was a pleasure resort of sorts, where Ibn Tulun, and later Khumarawiyyah, would go to
enjoy the spectacular panoramic view of his royal palace and the entire landscape of the
city (Figures 2.3 and). The view of Ibn Tulun’s lost city of al-​Qata’iʿ must have been a
spectacular one.81 For this see, Figures 2.6 and 2.7, showing a newly updated imaginary
view of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking west from a virtual point where the domed pavilion of Qubbat
al-​Hawwa’ might have stood.82

The End of al-​Qata’iʿ: A Concluding Remark

We know that Ibn Tulun’s city of al-​Qata’iʿ was established to the north of the former
capital of al-​ʿAskar, which in turn had been built north of al-​Fustat, the first Islamic
capitals of Egypt, and the city of al-​Fustat was laid out north of the earlier Roman fort-
ress of Babylon, which was guarding the strategic location just upstream from where the
Nile branched into the Delta. While al-​Qata’iʿ was further away from the Nile itself than
the earlier settlements, all of these settlements were on or next to the Khalig al-​Masri, the
ancient Red Sea canal.

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Tarek Swelim

Figure 2.6 New updated imaginary view of al-​Qata’iʿ from a virtual point where the domed
pavilion of Qubbat al-​Hawwa’ might have stood.

We also know that between the city and the spur of the Muqattam hills on which the
Citadel of Cairo now stands was the maydan, an open parade ground. From written
sources we know the name of the eight gates to the maydan. Adjoining the maydan was
the ruler’s extensive palace, and there is consensus that the palace occupied the ground
between the maydan and the cliffs to the east, corresponding to what is now the lower
enclosure of the Citadel. The palace comprised a distinct dar al-​haram (women’s palace)
section as well as the ruler’s residence with his servants and entourage. Ibn Tulun had
monumental royal tombs built south of the maydan.
The maydan of Ibn Tulun had several gates. One of these gates was a triple honorific
ceremonial one, called Bab al-​ Salah of al-​
Sibaʿ, which led to an important street
called the Shariʿal-​Aʿzam. The street was not straight but rather twisting and led to Dar
al-​Imara and the great congregational mosque, which survives to this day and bears
the name of Ibn Tulun. Next to the mosque was a small tomb known as Sidi Harun’s.
Khumarawiyyah, the son of Ibn Tulun, built two pavilions in the palace: one was called

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

Figure 2.7 Outline of al-​Qata’iʿ, looking west from a virtual point, where the domed pavilion of
Qubbat al-​Hawwa’ might have stood.

the Dikka and the other was the Bayt al-​Dhahab. He also converted his father’s open
parade ground into a large garden and zoo. South of the open parade ground was the
royal cemetery. Khumarawiyyah then built another maydan, somewhere that cannot be
traced.
The city had a great bimaristan, which was a rare type of building in that era.
We also know that water was brought from the south by means of an aqueduct,
which terminated at the foot of where the Citadel of Cairo lies today. Overlooking the
city from the location of the present-​day citadel was qubbat al-​hawả, a domed pleasure
pavilion (and subsidiary structures) possibly predating the founding of al-​Qata’iʿ. Balawi
states that the city of al-​Qata’iʿ was more developed, larger and more urbanized (a’mar
w’ahsan) than any of the cities or regions of bilad al-​Sham.83
Unfortunately, in the year 292/​905, an army of soldiers led by the ʿAbbasid general
Muhammad Ibn Sulayman al-​Katib attacked Egypt, and, after little resistance, the city

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Tarek Swelim

surrendered and was destroyed.84 Most major buildings were leveled to the ground,
so much so that the foundations of the royal palace were ploughed. This meant that
all the luxurious buildings including the Harim’s palace and the domed pavilions of
al-​Dikka and that of Bayt al-​Dhahab were plundered as well as being leveled to the ground.
One would also assume that the domed pavilion of Qubbat al-​Hawa’ was demolished.
In addition, the open parade ground of al-​maydan, which had been converted into a
large botanical garden, was devastated.85 The same may be said about the wonderful
zoo whose animals may have been killed. Bab al-​Salah/​Sibaʿmust have been left without
destruction as part of it was still standing during the time of the historian Balawi in the
10th century.86 The rest of the gates were probably destroyed as well. The houses were
invaded and many were destroyed.87
Not all the buildings were totally destroyed, however. The bimaristan seems to have
survived, as the traveler Ibn Jubayr mentions that it still existed when he visited Egypt
in 580/​1184.88 Therefore, it must have been destroyed some time between 1184 and 1364
when Maqrizi reported that it was no longer standing. The Aqueduct must have also
survived as it was feeding the city of Fustat which was then well populated by its Egyptian
citizens. One could imagine that after the destruction of al-​Qata’iʿ, its survivors fled to
al-​ʿAskar and al-​Fustat to find refuge. Dar al-​Imara was not destroyed either, as it had to
be kept as the seat of the new administration of Egypt. The mosque of Ibn Tulun was left
intact, probably for its venerated sanctity. Likewise, the tomb of Sidi Harun was spared.
The city of al-​Qata’iʿ continued to die slowly thereafter. Both the cities of al-​ʿAskar and
al-​Qata’iʿ were in such a poor condition that a century and a half later a wall was built
around them to hide them from al-​Qahira as it was developing to become one of the
greatest capitals of the Islamic world.

Notes
1 This article is based on a chapter by the same author; see Tarek Swelim, Ibn Tulun, His Lost City
and Great Mosque (AUC Press, 2015), pp. 37–​63. However, there were several issues that needed
to be revisited and further developed, making it a new contribution.
2 The date is provided by Sarim al-​Din Ibrahim Ibn Muhammad Ibn Aydumur al-​‘Ala’I al-​Misri
Ibn Duqmaq, Kitab al-​Intisar li-​Wasitat ‘aqd al-​Amsar, edited by K. Vollers (Beirut: Markaz
al-​Mawsu’at al-​ Alamiyah, 1893), 121; Taqi al-​ Din Abu’l-​ Mahasin ‘Abbas Ahmad Ibn ‘Ali
al-​Maqrizi, Al-​Mawa’iz w’al-​‘Itibar bi Dhikr al-​Khitat w’al-​Athar I, edited by Ayman Fuʼād
Sayyid (London: Muʼassasat al-​Furqān lil-​Turāth al-​Islāmī, 2002), 313.
3 I owe much gratitude to Jaroslaw (Jarek) Dobrowolski of ARCHiNOS Architecture, Cairo, for
making these wonderful hand drawings in this article. Also see the drawing by Seif al-​Rashidi, in
Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 36–​37 (Fig. 12).
4 Al-​Balawi, Abu Muhammad ‘Abd Allah Ibn Muhammad al-​Madini. Sirat Ahmad Ibn Tulun,
edited by Muhammad Kurd ‘Ali (Cairo: Maktabat al-​Thaqafa al-​Diniyya, circa. 1939), 53; Ibn
Duqmaq, 121; Maqrizi, Khitat II: 85. Neither of the latter two historians gives credit to Balawi,
who was their original source.
5 Balawi states that the water for the aqueduct came from the Abi Ibn Khalid well in an area
called al-​Ma’afir; see Balawi, 56, 76, 180; Maqrizi (quoting the historian al-​Quda’i) says that it
was located at the site of al-​Maghafir, instead of al-​Ma’afir. Maqrizi must have therefore copied
the name where the aqueduct was located wrongly or it was misprinted; see Maqrizi, Khitat IV,
893; the historian explains why it was built in his Khitat IV, 894. For more details see: M. Tarek
Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 42–​44.
6 Maqrizi states that it was built near an ancient well which was known as Bi’r ‘Asfa (the ‘Asfa
Well), Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 893, 897; Balawi, 182.
7 Balawi, 56, 76.

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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

8 Today, it lies below the Cairo Ring Road, which crosses over it. The water intakes are still vis-
ible on the south side of the Ring Road, while on the north side parts of the wall of arches can
still be seen. See Tarek Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 44, Figs 15 and 16; as for a ground plan of the water
intakes, see Creswell, Muslim Architecture of Egypt II (Hacker Art Books, New York, 1978), 331
(Figure 244).
9 By comparing this to my earlier study, one finds that the aqueduct terminates somewhere in the
city of al-​Qata’i’, without indicating its exact possible location. For this see Swelim, Ibn Tulun,
41 (Fig. 14).
10 Balawi, 182; quoted by Maqrizi, Khitiat II, 457.
11 He says that there was the sum of one million (alf alf) dinars that he had discovered in that
treasure; see Balawi, 76; Ibn Duqmaq, 99; Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 70 and 691. One may assume
that the findings in the treasure were worth that amount and not, that he physically found that
amount.
12 Balawi describes the bimaristan as having in its stores the most precious types of drugs; Balawi,
76; Maqrizi adds that well-​known theriaca and antidotes found only in the treasures of kings
and caliphs were also stocked in these stores. He also notes that they never ran out of any of
the major medicines or remedies, like laxatives; see Maqrizi, Khitat II, 405. He adds that it
incorporated two bathhouses, “hammams”, one for men and the other for women. Ibn Tulun
stipulated that when a patient entered the bimaristan, his clothes and valuables were to be kept
with the superintendent and he would be lent hospital clothes instead. Patients at the bimaristan
would be well taken care of, and they would be given free medicine, food and care from
physicians until they recovered. Only when patients were able to chew and swallow chicken and
a loaf of bread were they allowed to leave and given back their clothes and personal valuables;
see Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 691.
13 Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 692, Mu’afir is briefly mentioned; Ibn Duqmaq, 99; also listed by Ahmad
‘Isa, Tarikh al-​Bimaristanat fi’l-​Islam (Beirut, Dar al-​Ra’id al-​Arabi, 1981), 66; For more infor-
mation see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 45–​47.
14 Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 691.
15 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 56.
16 Also see, the location of the bimaristan in Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 40–​41 (Figures 13 and 14).
17 The historians Balawi and Maqrizi add that when most people went out and when asked where
they were going, the usual reply was to al-​Maydan. See Balawi, 54; repeated by Maqrizi, Khitat
II, 86.
18 Ibn Duqmaq, 121; Maqrizi, Khitat II, 80.
19 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 91; the Dar al-​Haram is not mentioned by Balawi.
20 To be compared with the similar imaginary views in Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 11 (Figure 12), 40
(Figure 13).
21 The following are the translations of Maqrizi’s Khitat II, 88, by James Aldrige, Cairo (Boston
and Toronto, 1969), 55–​58.
22 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 88.
23 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 90.
24 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 89.
25 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 89.
26 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 89.
27 Aldridge, Cairo, 56.
28 Ibn Duqmaq, 122; Maqrizi, Khitat II, 89; Aldridge, Cairo, 57, calculates it as 1,300 feet square.
29 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 89.
30 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 90. More information about this is in Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 62.
31 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 91–​92.
32 For more information, see: Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 59–​63.
33 It is worth noting that my previous study does not included an imaginary view on what the
palace complex, gardens and zoo of Khumarawiyyah looked like.
34 This was not understood and/​ or overlooked in my previous study, on Khumarawiyyah’s
enlargements of the royal palace complex and the transformation of the his father’s maydan
into a botanical garden and zoo.
35 I owe this discussion to Jaroslaw (Jarek) Dobrowolski of ARCHiNOS Architecture, Cairo, who
generously made the following comparisons.

29
30

Tarek Swelim

36 The word “hippodrome” is used in the following sources: Ya’qubi: Les Pays (Wiet’s transla-
tion); Jean Joseph Marcel, “Memoire sur la Mosquee de Touloun et les Inscriptions qu’elle
Renferme, Comprenant un précis de la Dynastie des Toulounides”, Descriotion de l’Egypte, Etat
Moderne, Tome XVIII/​3, deuxieme editions par Pancoucke (Paris, 1830), 1–​34; Marcel, Egypte
depuis la Conquete des Arabes jusqu’a la Domination Francaise (Paris, 1877), 71–​75; Corbet,
527–​562; Casanova, 204–​248; Edward Lane, 9–​14, 103–​109; Stanely Lane-​Poole, Saracens, 54–​
59; Stanley Lane-​Poole, History of Egypt, 60–​77; Stanely Lane-​Poole, Story of Cairo, 72–​90;
Creswell, E. M. A. II, 328. However, the maydans at Samarra are referred to as “race-​courses”
by Alistair Northedge, “The Race-​courses at Samarra”, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and
African Studies 53 (1990), 31–​56.
37 According to Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 52–​53.
38 See Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 36, 40 and 60 (Figures 12, 13 and 19).
39 Many cities in the Bilad al-​Sham had incorporated hippodromes, like Palmyra in Syria, Gerash
in Kingdom of Jordan, and in North Africa, like Leptis Magna in Libya and others.
40 The satellite image of the Amphitheatre in Lucca in Italy is a striking example. Piazza Navona
in Rome, once the stadium of Domitian, is another. The presumed site of Ibn Tulun’s original
maydan is still prominently visible in any aerial image.
41 Richard Ettinghausen and Oleg Grabar, The Art and Architecture of Islam: 650 -​1250 (Yale
University Press, 1987), 83–​86.
42 Robert Hillenbrand, R., Islamic Architecture: Form, Function and Meaning (Edinburgh
University Press 1994), 401, 403–​404.
43 Balawi, 53–​54; also recorded by Maqrizi, Khitat II, 86
44 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 86 .
45 Balawi, 55.
46 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 86 .
47 The term “honorific arch” is preferred to “triumphal arch”, according to William MacDonald
in his wonderful course on the Legacy of Roman Architecture, during my years at Harvard.
48 The excavations at Samarra show that was a majlis above the Bab al-​Amma, which was
reached by a ramp on its south side, overlooking the Tigris and the flood plain. For this see,
Alistaire Northedge, “An Interpretation of the Palace of the Caliph at Samarra (Dar al-​
Khalifa or Jawsaq al-​Khaqani), Ars Orientalis XXIII (1993): 146. The link between the Bab
al-​Salah or Bab al-​Siba’ and that in Samarra is also referred to by Gulru Necipoglu, “Shifting
Paradigms in the Palatial Architecture of the Pre-​Modern Islamic World”, Ars Orientalis
XXIII (1993): 9–​10.
49 Balawi, 55; Ibn Duqmaq, 121; Maqrizi, Khitat II, 86 .
50 Maqrizi also states that Ibn Tulun built a viewing pavilion “mandhar”, from where he would
watch the horse parades which was described as one of the great wonders of Islam “ ‘aja’ib al-​
Islam”; see Maqrizi, Khitat II, 93–​94 and 87; Balawi, 56; Maqrizi, Khitat II, 87 . The latter calls
it Bab Madinat al-​Fustat “the Gate of the city of Fustat”; Casanova, 213. The historians do not
tell us where this gate is located.
51 Shams al-​Din Abu Abd Allah Muhammad Ibn Nasir al-​Din al-​Ansari al-​Ma’ruf bi
‘Ibn al-​Zayyat, al-​Kawakib al-​Sayyara fin Tarikh al-​Ziyara (Baghdad), 278; the same infor-
mation is only repeated by Sakhawai, Tuhfat al-​Ahbab, 369–​370.
52 Today, in that area are two intriguing domed mausoleums; one of them seems to be larger
than the other. The tombs are not marked on the maps of Cairo and are not listed in the Index
of Mohammedan Monuments. I had thought that one of them was the tomb of Ibn Tulun,
according to the description provided by Ibn al-​Zayyat. However, by further examination of
these two buildings, they are 19th century, Ottoman Turkish style in the decoration and there-
fore cannot be the burial place of Ibn Tulun; inscriptions on one of the tombstones gives the
name of Husayn Bak al-​Jamashuji, 1276/​1859. It was the wonderful late Laila Ali Ibrahim who
many years ago drew my attention to these two buildings.
53 T. Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 56–​57.
54 I would like to thank Jaroslaw (Jarek) Dobrowolski for pointing out this idea to me. For more
details, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 57.
55 Ibn Duqmaq (121) describes Ibn Tulun’s action as “hadam”, while Maqrizi (Khitat, 315) uses
the verb “Amara bi-​harth”, ordered them to be ploughed.
56 Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 57.

30
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Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

57 Also see, Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 40 (Fig. 13) and 41 (Fig. 14). The idea of tomb vs. hippodrome has
been related to the same relation at the site of Antinopolis (modern Shaykh Abada), in Upper
Egypt. For this see, Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 57; and Tarek Swelim, “Antinopolis”, An Encyclopedia
of Roman Archaeology, edited by Catherine Bard (Routledge, London and New York,1999).
58 I tend to prefer translating the Shari’ al-​A’zam as the “Greatest Street”, as, if it were just the
“Great Street”, the name of the street would have been al-​Shari’ al-​A‘zam, instead. The diffe-
rence is therefore clear.
59 Balawi, 55.
60 Ya’qubi, 25.
61 For the layered maps of Cairo, see Al-​Madaq.net (www.alma​daq.net/​en/​maps/​?_​cn​txt=​eyJpbm
ZvQWN0aXZlIjpmYWxzZSwic3BsaXRJc0FjdGl2ZSI6ZmFsc2UsImNhblNwbGl0IjpmYW
xzZSwiY2FuU2hvd0l​uZm8​iOmZ​hbHN​lLCJ​jb25​0cm9​sbG), which gives an excellent view of
accurate maps from 1809 to 1920.
62 In my previous study, I had located the Bab al-​Salah/​Siba’ in the middle of the longitudinal
walls of the Maydan (Open Parade Ground), which was probably incorrect; see Swelim, Ibn
Tulun, 36, 40 and 60 (Figures 12, 13 and 19).
63 Ibn Duqmaq, 123–​124.
64 This is the double-​houses of Amna bint Salem al-​Gazzar (index no. 559), built in 947/​1540, and
that of Abd al-​Qadir al-​Haddad (index no. 321), built in 1041/​1631, also known as the Bayt al-​
Kiritliyya, which was later bought by Major Gayer Anderson in 1935–​1942, from the Egyptian
authorities. Today, this is known as the Gayer Anderson House/​Museum and is open to the
public.
65 Also see J. W. McPherson, The Moulids of Egypt (Egyptian Saints Days (Cairo, 1941), 206–​107,
and a photograph opposite p. 26.
66 Swelim, Ibn Tulun, Figures 18, 76 Plan B.
67 For more information about the tomb, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 50–​52.
68 Balawi, 52–​53.
69 Balawi, 183; Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 80.
70 Balawi, 183.
71 For an imaginary reconstruction of the Dar al-​Imara, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 50–​51 (Fig. 18),
128 (Fig. 76 Plan B).
72 The closest source of potable water available would come from the neighboring house of Bayt
Amna Bint Salem and Bayt al-​Kiritliyya, known today as the Gayer Anderson House/​Museum.
It has a famous well, known as Bi’r al-​Watawit, “Well of the Bats”, which has a host of folkloric
legends related to it. Physically, the well is too far away from the activities Ibn Tulun would per-
form, therefore, one may assume that this was simply the source of water for his ablution, with
the water being filled in a cistern or tank which he would use to wash himself; see Swelim, Ibn
Tulun, 50.
73 For a plan of the mosque, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 128 (Fig. 76, Plan B-​A)
74 For more details, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 90–​135.
75 After Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 128 (Fig. 76, Plan B).
76 Balawi, 54.
77 Maqrizi, Khitat IV, 691; Ibn Duqmaq, 99. The dar al-​diwan, al-​asakifa and unnamed qaisariyya
are only mentioned by Maqrizi.
78 Yaʿqubi, Kitab al-​Buldan, 26–​27.
79 See the imaginary renders in Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 51 (Fig. 18) and 62 (Fig. 20).
80 The Caliph al-​Ma’mun was the son of the Caliph Harun al-​Rashid; he was a lover of arts, litera-
ture and philosophy. In Egypt, he is remembered for tunneling in the outer façade of the Great
Pyramid of Khufu in Giza and reaching the corridor that leads to the burial chambers. Until
his period, the pyramid of Khufu was still covered entirely by the white outer facing of Tura
limestone. Ever since, it has constantly been ripped off.
81 For more information about the building and its spectacular view, see Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 58–​59.
82 To be compared to the imaginary figures in my previous study, in Swelim, Ibn Tulun, 40 and 60
(Figures 13 and 19).
83 Balawi, 54; quoted by Maqrizi, Khitat II, 86.
84 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 104; For more details about the destruction of al-​Qata’i’, see Swelim, Ibn
Tulun, 63.

31
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Tarek Swelim

85 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 104.

86 Balawi, 55.
87 Maqrizi, Khitat II, 104.
88 Ibn Jubayr, 52.

All figures are hand drawn by Jaroslav Dobrowolski of ARCHiNOS Architecture, Cairo, for the
author.

References
Primary Sources
Al-​Balawi, Abu Muhammad ‘Abd Allah Ibn Muhammad al-​Madini. Sirat Ahmad Ibn Tulun.
Edited by Muhammad Kurd ‘Ali. Cairo: Maktabat al-​Thaqafa al-​Diniyya, circa. 1939.
Ibn Duqmaq, Sarim al-​Din Ibrahim Ibn Muhammad Ibn Aydumur al-​‘Ala’I al-​Misri, Kitab
al-​Intisar li-​Wasitat ‘aqd al-​Amsar, edited by K. Vollers. Beirut: Markaz al-​ Mawsu’at
al-​Alamiyah, 1893.
Al-​Maqrizi, Taqi al-​Din Abu’l-​Mahasin ‘Abbas Ahmad Ibn ‘Ali, Al-​Mawa’iz w’al-​‘Itibar bi Dhikr
al-​Khitat w’al-​Athar. 5 Vols., edited by Ayman Fuʼād Sayyid. London: Muʼassasat al-​Furqān
lil-​Turāth al-​Islāmī, 2002.
Al-​Ya’qubi, Ahmad Ibn Abi Ya’qub Ibn Wadih. Kitab al-​Buldan. al-​Najaf, al-​Matba’a
al-​Haydariyaa, 1957.
Al-​Ya’qubi, Ya’kubi: Les Pays. Translated by Gatson Wiet. Cairo: IFAO, 1937.
Al-​Sakhawi, Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-​Rahman. Tuhfat al-​Ahbab was Baghaiyyat al-​Tullab fi’l-​
Khitat w’al-​Mazarat w’al-​Tarajum w’al-​Buqa w’al-​Mubarakat. Edited by Ahmad Nash’at,
Mahmud Rabi’ and Hasan Qasim. Cairo: Matba’at al-​‘Ulum wa’l-​Adab, 1937.

Secondary Sources
Aldridge, J. (1906). Cairo. Macmillan, 1970.
Casanova, Paul. “Kitab al-​mawa’idh wa’li’tibar bidhikr al khitat wa’lathar”, Livre des Admonitions
et de l’Observation pour l’Histoire des Quartiers et des Monuments ou Descriptions Historique et
Topographique de l’Egypte. Cairo: IFAO.
Creswell, K. A. C. (1978). The Muslim Architecture of Egypt. 2 Vols. New York: Hacker Art Books.
Corbet, E. K. (1891). “The Life And Works of Ahmad Ibn Tulun.” Journal of the Royal Asiatic
Society 257–​62.
Ettinghausen, R. and Oleg Grabar, O. (1987). The Art and Architecture of Islam 650-​50. England:
Penguin Books Harmondsworth.
Hillenbrand, R. (1994) Islamic Architecture: Form, Function and Meaning, Edinburgh University
Press.
‘Isa, A. (1981). Tarikh al-​Bimaristanat fi’l-​Islam. Beirut: Dar al-​Ra’id al-​‘Arabi.
Lane-​Poole, S. (1886). The Art of the Saracens in Egypt. London: Chapman and Hall.
—​—​—​. (1901). A History of Egypt in the Middle Ages. London: Chapman and Hall, Ltd.
—​—​—​. (1906). The Story of Cairo. London: J. M. Dent & Co.
Marcel, J.J. (1830). “Memoire sur la Mosquee de Touloun et les Inscriptions qu’elle
Renferme,Comprenant un précis de la Dynastie des Toulounides.” Description de l’Egypte, Etat
Moderne. Tome XVIII/​3. 2nd edition by Panckoucke. Paris. 1–​34.
—​—​—​. (1877–​1878). Egypte depuis la Conquete des Arabes jusqu’a la Domination Francaise.
Paris: Firmin Didot, Freres.
McPherson, J.W. (1941). The Moulids of Egypt (Egyptian Saints Days). Cairo: N. M. Press.
Northedge, A. (1993), “An Interpretation of the Palace of the Caliph at Samarra (Dar al-​Khilafa
of Jawsaq al-​Khaqani).” Ars Orientalis XXIII. 143–​70.
—​—​—​. (1990). “The Race-​courses at Samarra.” Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African
Studies 53, 31–​56.

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33

Al-​Qata’iʿ: A Lost City in Cairo –​Revisited

Necipoglu, Gulru. (1993). “An Outline of Shifting Paradigms in the Palatial Architectire of the
Pre-​Modern Islamic World.” Ars Orientalis XXIII, 3–​24.
Swelim, T. (1999). Antinopolis. An Encyclopedia of Roman Archaeology, edited by Catherine Bard;
London & New York: Routledge.
—​—​—​. (2015). Ibn Tulun, His Lost City and Great Mosque. Cairo: AUC Press.

Websites
Al-​Madaq.net www.alma​daq.net/​en/​maps/​?_​cn​txt=​eyJpbmZvQWN0aXZlIjpmYWxzZSwic3B
saXRJc0FjdGl2ZSI6ZmFsc2UsImNhblNwbGl0IjpmYWxzZSwiY2FuU2hvd0l​uZm8​iOmZ​
hbHN​lLCJ​jb25​0cm9​sbG

33
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3
CAIRO AS A PALACE
Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

Ayman Fouad Sayyid

There is no doubt that the Fatimids’ conquest of Egypt was their most important
achievement which has ensured a special position for them in Islamic history. This con-
quest did not mean just the establishment of a new government in another place. Rather,
it was a far-​reaching religious, cultural and social coup, accompanied by an apparent
shift in the ruling regime that created a completely new governing attitude. For the first
time since its Islamic conquest by the Arabs, Egypt was ruled by a dynasty that did not
even owe loyalty to the Sunni Abbasid Caliphate in Baghdad. With the entry of the
Fatimids into Egypt, the role of the Caliphate in the Islamic world was fundamentally
transformed.
The Fatimids led a great religious, philosophical and social movement whose goal was
no less than the conversion and renewal of all Islam as they saw themselves as the true
imams of the Islamic world. Their arrival in Egypt in the tenth century AD /​mid-​fourth
century AH was an unusual event and a serious development in the map of Islam at
that time. For the first time in Islamic history, a real competition arose with regard to
ruling the Muslim world between two different groups, the Sunni Caliphate in Baghdad
and the Shiite Calipahte in Cairo, both of which saw themselves as the rightful heirs to
the prophet Muhammad.
The Fatimids failed to win all the territory of the Islamic world because of their strict
adherence to a Shiite ideology that was rejected in other parts of the Muslim world. That,
however, did not prevent the capital they built from playing a major role in repelling the
foreign enmies of Islam after the fall of Baghdad, standing up to the Crusader tide, and
stopping the Mongol invasion of Egypt.
It was not the intention of the Fatimid General Jawhar al-​Saqlabi or his Imam,
al-​Muʿizz Ldin Allah, to establish a city in the ordinary and well-​known sense of this
word. The great chronicler of Cairo, al-​Maqrizi, states that al-​Qahira, which is later
anglicized as Cairo, “was only built to be a dwelling place for the Caliph, his court,
his soldiers and his retinue, a sort of fortress and resort”.1 The original core of Cairo
included a lavish palace, and barracks for soldiers that formed the conquering army. It
was the administrative and military headquarters of the the Fatimid regime and a center
of religious and cultural propaganda for the Ismảili doctrine, while the nearby Fustat
continued to be the commercial and economic capital of Egypt.

34 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-4
35

Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

Throughout the Fatimid era Cairo was the site from which the Fatimid imams staged
the processions that were launched from the Great Eastern palace and penetrated the
streets of Cairo. Cairo’s central mosque, which was later known as “al-​Azhar”, was the
center of the Ismaı̉li Da’wa or mission in the Islamic world. “Councils of Wisdom” as
they were called were led by Fatimid preachers throughout the city. To establish their
legitimacy, the Fatimid brought with them to Cairo many of the official paintings and
artifacts required by their doctrine. They set up a new court system with new protocols
and honorific titles. They also invented elaborate cermeonies that were described in
detail by several historians and chroniclers from the ninth to the fifteenth centuries,
including al-​Qalqashandi, al-​Maqrizi and Bin Taghribardi.2 Their descriptions deserve
our full confidence because they relied on first-​hand sources that date back to the Fatimid
era itself or to the beginning of the Ayyubid era and in particular the writings of Ibn
al-​Ma`mun and Ibn al-​Tuwair al-​Qaysarani.3
The great eastern Fatimid palace, whose foundation was laid by General Jawhar
al-​Saqlabi, occupied seven acres, which was about one-​fifth of the area of Fatimid Cairo.
It was the monument that included among its quartes the masterpieces of Fatimid art.
Historians have often described it with some reservations as they were often afraid that
they would be accused of exaggeration.
The palace consisted of a group of small buildings, halls, iwans, and a treasury, all of
which were called “al-​qasr” in their own right. Unfortunately, we know very little about
its architecture as every trace of this great palace has disappeared and has now been
replaced by Madrasas that were established in the Ayyubid and Mamluk eras in what is
now the Khan al-​Khalili and Jamaleya neighborhoods. However, thanks to the writings
of al-​Musbahi Ibn Abd al-​Zahir and al-​Maqrizi, we were able to reconstruct the exterior
shape of the palace and determine the location of its main doors.4 The palace was also
distinguished by the presence of a huge hall and a large Iwan designated for the caliphal
court where there was a gold throne called sarir almulk (the kings’ bed) that Jawhar
Al-​Saqlabi built for the eastern palace. The Persian traveler Nasiri Khusru stated that
“the throne occupied the width of the hall and was with four cubits high covered with
gold on its three sides and it had pictures of the Square in front of the palace on it with
same beautiful writing”.5
Ibn al-​Tuwair writing close to the end of the Fatimid era provides us with a descrip-
tion of the Fatimid Caliph (often referred to as Imam) sitting in the “Hall of Gold” and
the banquet tables laid out in front.6 This precise description of the arrangement of this
hall and other parts of the palace helps us in visualizing the internal topography of an
important part of this large Fatimid palace. The descriptions provided by Ibn al-​Tuwair
often coincide with the descriptions provided to us respectively by al-​Mosabihe, Nasiri
Khusru, Ibn al-​Ma`mun and Gilum the Bishop of Tire.7
The “Hall of Gold” contained the council or Majlis of the Caliph, which was only
open to those who were close to the Caliph. Researchers consider this type of building
as an iwan designed in the shape of the letter T and supported by two adjacent rooms
located on either side of the main section of the iwan extending inwards. This style
of a “Majlis” known as the Samarra style was inspired by other buildings in Fustat.
Although al-​Masbahi writing at the beginning of the eleventh century AD /​fifth century
AH used the term “palace” to describe this structure,8 we find it in the writings of Ibn
al-​Ma’moun and Ibn al-​Tuwair, in the first half of the sixth century AH /​twelfth century
AD, described as a “hall”.9 And in the Cairo Geniza papers dated by Goitein in 1190
AD /​586 AH there is mention of an engraving on a door connecting the main part of

35
36

Ayman Fouad Sayyid

RIVER BANK AT THE TIME OF THE FATIMIDS

AL-MAQS

AL-QAHIRA
PRESENT DAY RIVER BANK
(969)

AL-FIL
LAKE

RIVER NILE MOSQUE OF

IBN TULUN
AL-HAMRA'
AL-QATAI'I
(CIRCA 870)

FUTURE
ISLAND OF
RAWDAH AL-QAHIRA
BAB
AL-FUTUH AL-HAKIM/
AL-ANWAR
4 MOSQUE
BAB
MOSQUE AL-NASR
OF 'AMR 3
5 5
FUSTAT AL-AQMAR
(CIRCA 640) MOSQUE
1 2 5
BUSTAN BAYN
BABYLON AL-KAFURI AL-QASRAYN
4 WEST EAST 5
PALACE PALACE

5
4
5
AL-AZHAR
MOSQUE
5 5
5
5
5
BUSTAN 5 5
AL-MA'SHUQ 4
5
BAB
ZUWAYLA
4

0 500 N
1000 AL-HABASH TALA'I
LAKE MOSQUE

Figure 3.1 The original plan of Fatimid al-​Qahira.

From AlSayyad, N. (2011) Cairo: Histories of a City, Harvard University Press, Cambridge, MA.
(Courtesy of Nezar AlSayyad).

the iwan. This resembles the door of the Madrasa of al-​Nasir Muhammad ibn Qalawun
built later in the location of the Sitt al-​Mulak Hall in the small western Fatimid Palace.
Through Ibn al-​Tuwair’s description of the throne of the Caliphs in the majlis in the
Hall of Gold, we know that the main part of the hall was actually a courtyard. We also
know from Ibn al-​Tuwair’s description that the banquet held during the Eid and the

36
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Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

banquet held during Ramadan were laid all along the hall and a silver banquet table was
installed on it called “al-​mudawara” (the Round). The banquet was placed in front of
the throne opposite the Bab al-​Bahr along the hall. The hall was preceded by a corridor,
which Ibn al-​Tuwair and the author of the book “History of the Church Patriarchs”
called “The Corridor of the Pillar”, which seemed to be a colonnaded arcade. This gives
the impression that the hall was very wide and that it was necessary to have supports
to lift it consisting of a number of columns, which is consistent with the description of
Gilum the Bishop of Tire as it was translated to French by Gustave Schlumberger: “Une
vaste courde couverte qu’entouraient de magnifiques colonnades” which means “A vast
covered courtyard surrounded by magnificent colonnades”. The “Corridor of the Pillars”
led to the offices of the ministers. And there was the door known as “the door of the
basement” behind which the bathhouse of the palace was located .
It was also clear from the descriptions provided by Ibn al-​Tuwair and later al-​Maqrizi
that the main halls of the palace were often in the form of deep iwans open onto courtyards
or which did not yet take the form of closed halls. Thus, the style of the covered halls did
not appear in the Fatimid era as suggested earlier. When al-​Maqrizi mentions the “Sitt
al-​Mulk Hall”10 –​one of the halls of the small western Fatimid palace –​he must have
meant courtyard and the four iwans around it forming a cruciform orthogonal space that
becomes common later in the Ayyubid and Mumluk Madrasas. The senior and high-​
ranking of the state used to stand in an elevated corridor located outside the council
chambers.
On either side of the vestibule of the pillar there were a number of mastabas
connected to each other with benches on which the banquet for the Ảshura’s mourning
was laid, and around the Hall of Gold there was a frieze of wood carvings under the
ceiling. Ibn At-​Tuwair, while describing the “Day of the Horses parade” in preparation
for the beginning of the year, provides us with a description of the corridors and the
events when the Caliph would leave the palace from the Eid gate into the Eid square or
Rahbat al-​Eid.11 This procession used to go out for the Eid prayer-​hall on the days
of Eid al-​Fitr and Eid al-​Adha. The ministers entered the square through the corridors
of Bab al-​Mulk.
The “Great Iwan” of the palace was built later by the Caliph al-​Aziz Billah in the
Great Eastern Palace in the year 979 AD /​369 AH, and it was accessed through the Eid
gate. It had the window from which the Caliph would sit to lead the sermons. In this
Iwan, the Caliphs would hold majlis before moving to the Hall of Gold on Mondays or
Thursdays. It is understood from a text of al-​Masbahi that the iwan fronted a courtyard
in which the people gathered for the reading of the Caliphal decrees.12
The operation of the majlis required great attention to the seating arrangement of the
attendees according to their rank and thus their position from the Caliph. This provides
us with valuable information about the social and political structure of the Fatimids.
The “sahib almajlis” or master of the audience hall was the official who was one of
the experienced servants and was in charge of organizing the majlis and arranging the
attendees’ sitting. He was often assisted by a group servants. The “chief chamberlain”,
who was usually a prince, and the army commandor would stand on the right and left
of the majlis’s door and would allow those who had the approval to enter the majlis. In
addition to the weekly sitting of the Fatimid Caliph in the gold hall of the palace, the hall
was used for the reception of the foreign ambassadors; al-​Mosbahi provides a detailed
description of how al-​Zahir received the ambassador of Khorasan, on 4 May 1024 AD/​
20 Safar 415 AH.13

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Ayman Fouad Sayyid

Aside from presiding over the Majlis and receiving the ambassadors, the Fatimid
Caliphs made apperances on other occasions including the six birthday celebration
“Mawalids”, which were: the birth of the Prophet, the birth of ʿAli bin Abi Talib, the
birth of Fatima, the birth of Hassan, the birth of Al-​Hussein, and the birth of the present
Caliph. Also, the Caliphs used to have another public sitting during the “four nights of
lights” which were the night of the first and mid of Rajab and Shaban months.
The ”ʿAshura” mourning, which occurred on the tenth of Muharram, was the only
private celebration in which the Caliph was concealed from his subjects. It was first
performed in the palace but moved to Al-​Azhar Mosque after the vazir al-​Ma’moun
ibn al-​Butaihi took over in the year 1122 AD /​516 AH. All the ministers, judges, and all
the senior and junior princes would gather to salute the Caliph barefooted and without
headwear (turbans). The banquet tables were filled only with barley bread. The Caliph
forbade the readings of “The Death of al-​ Hussein”. Al-​ Hussein’s head which was
supposed to have been transported to Egypt after his murder in the Dome of the Dylam
in the Fatimid Palace in 1154 AD /​549 AH. In mourning of Ashura the poets chanted
poetry to lament the demise of the family of the Prophet.
Ibn al-​Tuwair provides a description in which the Vazir, the head judge and the head
preacher are summoned to the palace to enter through the door of gold.
The judge and the preacher would then sit next to “sahib al-​bab”, the chief cham-
berlain, to listen to memorial recitation and chants and later dine on a meal of lentils,
pickles, cheese, honey, pie and bread. After the end of the event, the mourners roamed
the city chanting for the rest of the day, while the sellers closed their shops until the
afternoon.
The great Fatimid eastern palace was not only a group of reception halls and places
where the Caliph lived, but it also included a hall in which the Ismailis gathered to listen
to the sermon given by the chief preacher. In addition, the palace contained chambers
for books, flags, banners, weapons, shield, saddles, furniture, wardrobes, essences, medi-
cine and drinks. The Caliph used to visit these chambers and inspect them throughout
the year.
The Fatimid Caliphs had many flags and banners required for the ostentation and
extravagance that distinguished them from retinue, and other heads of their state. Al-​
Qalqashandi called them “the royal instruments for the great processions”,14 and they all
date back to the late Fatimid era, that is, in the twelfth century AD /​sixth AH.
The Fatimid Caliphs wore special custumes for each ceremony celebration. These were
tailored in the Dar al-​Taraz and preserved in the kiswa treasury. The color emblem of
the Fatimids was white and so the clothes of the Caliphs were usually made of a dis-
tinctive type of white silk. Ibn al-​Tuwair points out that the Caliph would ride during the
ceremony of the opening of the canal that fed the city from the Nile wearing a special
garment called the Badna which was all made of gold and marked silk and a parasol from
the same material, and he did not wear this garment on any other day. Al-​Maqrizi added
that it was woven with gold thread with a value of one thousand dinars.15

Ceremonial Processions
There is no doubt that the Vizier al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Bata’ihi’s rise to power at the end
of the year 1121 AD /​515 AH represented an important turning point in the history
of the Fatimid state in Egypt. Througout the 28 years that followed the death of the
Caliph al-​Mustansir Billah (1094–​1121AD /​487–​515AH), the powerful minister al-​Afdal

38
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Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

Shahanshah was the holder of the effective power in the country. He was the one who
seated al-​Mustaʽli Billah on the Caliphate in place of his brother Nizar, the legit-
imate heir. And after his death in December 1101 AD /​Safar 495 AH, his son Abu Ali
Al-​Mansour resided in the Caliphate and was called Al-​Amer bi-​Ahkam Allah but he
was still a child five years old. Thus, over the next 20 years al-​Afdal remained the de facto
ruler of the country until his death (he was killed in 1121 AD /​515 AH). During that time
he suspended many of the state official ceremonies, detained the child Caliph and trans-
ferred the diwans to a new seat of rule (dar almulk) that he built in 1106 AD /​501 AH
on the Nile in southern Fustat. He also trimmed the role of the Caliph in the ceremonies,
celebrations and the feasts.
Al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Bata’ihi took over the ministry following the death of al-​Afdal.
Among the demands set by al-​Amer for his new Vizier al-​Ma’moun was the restor-
ation of the Fatimid feasts and official ceremonies that were banned by his predcessor.
Al-​Maqrizi credits him with “renewing the state’s ceremonies and returning the joy and
grandeur to it”.16 If the Fatimids had invented these ceremonies at the beginning of their
state, then it was during the time of Caliph al-​Amer that they witnessed a great develop-
ment and reached higher levels. Strict rules were put in place for the protocol whereby it
was decided that the Caliph would sit in the public sitting in the “Gold Hall” on Mondays
or Thursdays of every week as was done when the state was declared. It was arranged
that the Caliph would ride three days in the week, Friday, Saturday and Tuesday, and if
he was not ready to ride on one of these days, he would ride on another day. The Vizier
would ride on Saturdays and Tuesdays to the palace where he would meet the Caliph for a
walk in al-​Baal orchard, or ride to the dome of the air at the outskirts of Cairo, and then
to the Seat of the Kingdom (dar al-​mulk) in Fustat, or to the cottage that was established
by the Caliph al-​Amer on the island of Rawda on Sundays or Wednesdays. In addition,
the Caliph moved from his palace with his harem on the days the Nile was full and lived
in the “manzarat allu’lủ” or Pearl Pavilion on the shore of the canal, whereas his Vizier
lived in Dar al-​Dahab adjacent to the Pearl Pavilion.
The year 1122 AD /​516 AH witnessed the return of the celebrations that had been
neglected since the civil unrest and the rule of Badr al-​Jamali and his son al-​Afdal over
the state. Badr al-​Jamali, the Fatimid governer of Acre, was called to Egypt by Caliph
al-​Mustansir to take over the government and to restore order to the capital. With the
beginning of that year, the four births were re-​celebrated after al-​Afdal had canceled
them. The Fatimids used to organize the most complex ceremonial processions. The
reason for the abundance of information that we have received about these ceremonies is
due to the writing of later historians of the Mamluk era who have preserved the accounts
of Fatimid sources that have been lost. The only author who preserved full descriptions
of these ceremonies is Ibn al-​Tuwair al-​Qaysarani, who lived at the end of the Fatimid era
and the beginning of the Ayyubid era and on whose writings historians like Qalqashandi,
al-​Maqrizi and Ibn Taghribardi relied.
The most important of these processional celebrations was undoubtedly the celebra-
tion of the ride of the beginning of the Hijri New Year. The first information that we
have in the sources about the congratulations offered on this occasion in the early Fatimid
period goes back to the time of al-​Hakim bi-​Amr Allah. Al-​Maqrizi mentions in the
events of the year 999 AD /​390 AH –​quoting from the historian al-​Musabahi –​“On the
first day of Muharram, al-​Hakim appeared and the people entered and congratulated
him for the beginning of the year”. The sources do not refer to this celebration any more,
which may have taken place in the same way until it was cut off during the period of the

39
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Ayman Fouad Sayyid

civil unrest and the rule of Badr al-​Jamali and his son al-​Afdal Shahanshah. We find
the first detailed reference to this celebration after that in the year 1123 AD /​517 AH
when al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Bata’ihi became the Vizier of Caliph. The Caliph used to dis-
tribute specially minted coins to “his brothers, his relatives, the artisans, and all servants
of high and low rank”, while the Vizier distributed the coins to his “children, brothers,
companions, entourage, princes, guests and soldiers”.17 Ma’mounIbn al-​Tuwair estimates
the money handed out to have been approximately three thousand dinars.
In the ceremony the Caliph would come out in a procession through Bab al-​Futuh
and walking around him were the soldiers and the infantry wearing their best clothes.
The gates would be decorated with drapes and curtains. He would enter the city again
from Bab al-​Nasr, where alms would be distributed to the poor and those who resided
in the city. On his return to the palace, he would enter from the gate of gold, where the
Quranic reciters would receive him throughout the vestibules of the palace. After that, he
would enter the “Treasury of the Royal Wardrobe “, where he would change his clothes
to head to the burial ground of his predecessors known as the “turbat alzaʿfaran” in the
southwest corner of the palace. The Caliph would then head to one of his own palaces to
rest. Each of the Caliphs and their Viziers held a council, and a banquet was served on
this occasion in the palace.
As for the pattern of the Caliph’s ride in the beginning of the Hijri year, it was
narrated by Ibn al-​Tuwair (1130–​1220 AD /​524–​617 AH), and it dates back to the last
three decades of the Fatimid Caliphate and includes precise details dealing with the
preparation for the procession, and the associated instruments. The ride of the first day
of Ramadan to al-​Aqmar mosque was another important ceremonial event. This was
followed by the ride on the second Friday to the Al-​Anwar Mosque (al-​Hakim), and on
the third Friday to the al-​Azhar Mosque in Cairo, and on the last Friday to the Mosque
of Amer in Fustat.
Ibn Zulaq gave us a description of the first Eid al-​Fitr prayer performed by the
Caliph, al-​Mu`izz Li Din Allah, in Cairo in the year 973 AD /​362 AH. Al-​Mosbahi also
mentioned that at the end of Ramadan in January of the year 991 AD/​380 AH, a plat-
form had been built between the palace and the open prayer ground (or musalla) outside
Bab al-​Nasr, on which the muʿezzins would sit until the chants reached the palace.18 The
procession of the Caliph on that day from Bab al-​`id was equally significant. Eid al-​Fitr
was the major season for the Fatimids, and for that reason it was called the Feast of
Suits. The value of the suits that were distributed on Eid al-​Fitr in 1123 AD /​516 AH
amounted to about 20,000 dinars. They were given to the elite members of the state with
certificates issued from the chancery. It is also important to note that during the celebra-
tion of ʿEid alA-​dha, which begins on the ninth day of Dhu al-​Hijjah, the Caliph would
normally summon the Vizier and all government officials, according to their rank, to
greet them and receive congratulations for the ʿEid.

The Procession of the Caliph during the Egyptian National Feasts

The Fatimids –​like other rulers of Egypt –​realized the importance of the Nile to
Egyptian economic life. The cultivation of Egypt’s land and the provision of food to its
people were linked to the flooding of the Nile when it reached 16 cubits. Since the arrival
of al-​Muʿizz li-​Din Allah in Cairo, he had been concerned with the matter of measuring
the level of Nile water. The Caliph prohibited proclaiming the rise of the Nile or writing

40
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Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

about it to anyone other than himself or his general Jawhar al-​Saqlabi until he approved
its public announcement.
The Fatimids celebrated the fulfillment of the Nile in the early period of their rule in
a simple manner. Al-​Maqrizi stated (most likely quoting from Ibn Zulaq) that Al-​Muʿizz
rode in the month of September 974 AD /​Dhu al-​Hijjah in 363 AH to cut the barriers
and open the canal (al-​khalig al-​masri). And in the events of the year 992 AD /​382
AH al-​Maqrizi also mentioned (this time quoting al-​Masbahi) with some details that
al ̉-Aziz bi Allah “rode to open the Gulf with a parasol and wore an outer garment of
brocade with gold threads and a crown ornamented with jewels”. In the following year he
mentions that al-​Aziz rode with his son to open the canal.
Despite the scarcity of available details, there is no doubt that the Caliphs went annu-
ally to open the canal. Al-​Maqrizi pointed out that al-​Masbahi mentioned in his book
the processions of al-​Aziz, al-​Hakim and al-​Zahir, the son of Al-​Hakim, every year to
open the Gulf. In the year 1023 AD /​414 AH al-​Zahir rode to open the canal and here
al-​Masbahi mentions that he walked around the city until he arrived at the bridge near
the arsenal where he inspected a Nile boat then walked on the shore of the Nile in Fustat,
before he arrived to open the dam. As an eyewitness to these events, al-​Masbahi described
the garments of the Caliph during this procession, a fine golden robe and on his head, a
studded shashya [a type of long muslin wrapped around a turban], and a white garment
with a golden turban on the return procession.19
The Persian traveler Nasiri Khusraw gives us an interesting description of the ride of
the Caliph Al-​Mustansir Billah to unlock the dam in 1046 AD /​441 AH. He states: “When
the Nile reaches fulfillment, that is, from the tenth of the month of Yur (August and
September) to the twentieth of the month of Aban (October and November), and the
height of the water reaches eighteen cubits above its level in winter, and the inlet of
canals and streams are blocked throughout the country, the Sultan comes to open this
river which was called ‘the Gulf’, which begins before the city of Egypt, Fustat, and
then passes through Cairo, it was a private property of the Sultan. On that day the other
canals in all the states were opened. This day is the greatest holiday in Egypt, and it is
called ‘the riding of the feast of the opening of the Gulf’ ”.20
On the morning of the day that the Caliph went to unlock the dam, 10,000 men were
employed and each one of them handled one of the animals as they marched every hun-
dred in a row, and in front of them the musicians blew their horns and beat the drums
while a regiment of the army followed behind them. They went from the palace to the
outlet of the canal, with camels and mules carrying packsaddles.
On that day, all the inhabitants of the city went out to watch the opening of the canal
and to watch the many amazing games which took place around the celebration. In the
late Fatimid period, starting from the ministry of al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Butaihi, there were
two distinct celebrations when the inundation of the Nile took place in two different
sites. The first was performed at the Nilometer and was called takhliq almiqyas when
the Nile reached 16 cubits high, and the second took place one to three days after this
celebration and it was the actual breaking of the barriers to open the canal. It seems that
the Nilometer celebration was introduced at a late period and was not there prior to the
period of the ministry of al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Butaihi.
Ibn al-​Ma’moun gave us a vivid description of how the celebration of the inunda-
tion took place. Supporting the earlier description is Ibn al-​Tuwair, who states “If God
Almighty authorized the increase of the blessed Nile, its guardian Ibn Abi al-​Raddad

41
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Ayman Fouad Sayyid

reads the level of the Nile on the twenty-​fifth day of the month of Baounah and dates it
with the equivalent day of the Arabic month and sends it to the Diwan and the equivalent
days of the Coptic month, where it was kept a secret that no one knows about it before
the Caliph and after him his Vizier”. If the reading was one or two fingers short to reach
the sixteenth cubits, the measurer was commanded to carry food and spend that night by
Nilometer. The reciters of the Quran, the Imams of the mosques in Al-​Qahira and Fustat
would join and light up the candles after `Isha prayer and wait until the water reached 16
cubits that night.
The Nile inundation was of great importance for the Egyptians and they rejoiced in it
with extra happiness, while thanking God for His grace. The Caliph cared about it more
than any other celebrations. During his visit to Al-​qahira in the year 1049 AD /​441 AH,
Nasiri Khusraw witnessed the celebration of the opening of the canal and described the
action of the Caliph al-​Mustansir Billah. This was consistent with what Ibn al-​Tuwair
mentioned where he states “If this matter has passed, the Caliph rode to the opening of
the gulf on the second day, with great concern since the increase of the Nile reached the
level of inundation. The treasury building would comission the maqyas of animal statues
such as deers, lions, elephants and giraffes, all ornamented with pearls, sapphires and
golden details”.21
Among the celebrations that the Fatimids held in Cairo, whether it continued or
stopped after the fall of their state, the celebration of the ʿEid Al-​Ghadeer is the only one
that has Shiite origins. Nevertheless, this celebration underwent changes similar to those
that accompanied other Fatimid ceremonies. At the beginning of the Fatimid era, the
celebration of Al-​Ghadeer, like the ʿAshura’s mourning which commemorates the death
of Hussein, was essentially celebrated only by the Caliph and his government. However,
starting from the sixth century AH /​twelfth century AD, the Fatimid government began
organizing its own processional celebration similar to the celebration of ʿEid al-​Adha,
and it became part of the rituals that developed during the rule of the Vizier al-​Ma’moun
ibn al-​Bata’ih. Towards the end of the Fatimid era, the Fatimid Caliph al-​Hafiz Li Din
Allah transformed it from a Shiite celebration to a processional celebration in which the
Caliph participated and it became a public event.

Concluding Note
Thus, al-​Qahira throughout the Fatimid era was a fortified compound that included
the luxurious Fatimid palaces, the residence of the Fatimid Caliph, the headquarters of
the Grand Ministry, the houses of senior figures of the Fatimid state, the various state
chambers, and the quarters of the various soldiers that accompanied the leader Jawhar
al-​Saqlabi. These included the Ketamites, the Zwailites, the Moroccans, the Saqqaba, the
Barqites and later the Turks and the Daylamites, the Sudan and the Armenians under
future Caliphs. It was planned as the administrative and military seat of government, not
a full city in the current meanings of the term, of the Fatimid regime and was a center for
religious and cultural propaganda for the Ismaili sect.
But after the success of al-​Nasir Salah al-​Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub –​the last of the
Fatimid Viziers –​in putting an end to the Fatimid state in the year 1172 AD /​567 AH, the
seat of government was transferred to a fortified site on the Moqatam Hills. Al-​Qahira
opened its doors to receive new elements that were not permitted to enter the compound
and reside in it. Its markets boomed, and it finally replaced Fustat, which was deliberately
burned by Vizier Shawar al-​Saʿadi in 1168AD /​554 AH. Al-​Maqrizi commented on that

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Cairo as a Palace: Rituals of the Fatimid Caliphate

by stating “Al-​Qahira became a real city after it was a fortress and a Caliphate house, so
it was wasted away after glory and abused after respect”.

Notes
1 Al-​Maqrizi, Taqi Aldin Ahmed Ibn Ali Ibn Abed Alkader (d. H 845 /​AD 1442.)
Itti’az alhunafa biakhbar ala’imma alkhulafa, 4 vols. Edited by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid. London,
The Institute of Ismaili Studies; Damascus, French Institute for the Near East; and Cairo, Dar
Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2016.
2 Al Qalqashandi, Shihab Eldin Abou Alabass Ahmed Ibn Ali (d. H 821 /​AD 1418.) Subh Ala’sha
fi Sina’at Alinsha, 14 vols. Cairo, Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 1912–​1938, Al Maqrizi.
3 Ibn alMa’mun, Gamal Eldin Abou mossa (d. AH 588 /​AD 1092) and Ibn alTuwayr, Abou
Mohamed Al-​ Mortady Abed Al-​ Salam Ibn Ai-​ Hassan Al-​ Qaysarani (d. H 617 /​AD
1220) Nozhat al-​moklatin fe akhbar al-​dolatin, prepared for publication by Ayman Fouad
Sayyid, Cairo, Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.
4 Ibn Abed Elzaher, Mohyee Eldin Abou Elfadel Abed Allah Ibn Rashid Eldin (d. H 692 /​AD
1278) Alrawda Albahia Alzahera fe Khetat Almu`zia Alkahera. Edited by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid.
Beirut, Awraq Sharqia, 1996.
5 Nasiri Khusraw (his journey to Cairo occurred between the years 437 and 442 AH /​1045–​1052
AD) Safar-​nama, A Book of Travels, translated into Arabic by Yahya Al-​Khashab. Beirut, Dar
Al-​Kitaab Al-​Jadeed, 1970.
6 Ibn alTuwair (d. H 617 /​AD 1220).
7 Al-​Mosbahi, al-​Amir alMukhtar ‘Izz almulk Mohamed ibn Ahmad) [d. 1029] Akhbar Misr,
prepared for publication by Ayman Fouad Sayed. Cairo, Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014. Nasiri
Khusraw, see note above. Ibn alMa’mun, Gamal Eldin Abou mossa (d. AH 588 /​AD 1092).
Alseraa AlMa’munya or Akhar Misr, prepared for publication by Ayman Fouad Sayed. Cairo,
Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.
8 Al-​Mosbahi, al-​Amir alMukhtar ‘Izz almulk Mohamed ibn Ahmad) [d. 1029].
9 Ibn alMa’moun, Gamal Eldin Abou Mossa (d. AH 588 /​AD 1092) and Ibn alTuwayr, Abou
Mohamed Al-​Mortady Abed Al-​Salam Ibn Ai-​Hassan Al-​Qaysarani (d. H 617 /​AD 1220).
10 Al-​Maqrizi, Taqi Aldin Ahmed Ibn Ali Ibn Abed Alkader (d. H 845 /​AD 1442).
11 Ibn alTuwair (d. H 617 /​AD 1220).
12 Al-​Mosbahi.
13 Al-​Mosbahi.
14 Al Qalqashandi (D.H 821 /​AD 1418).
15 Al-​Maqrizi (D.H 845 /​AD 1442).
16 Al-​Maqrizi (D.H 845 /​AD 1442).
17 Ibn alMa’mun, Gamal Eldin Abou Mossa (d. AH 588 /​AD 1092).
18 Al-​Mosbahi.
19 Al-​Mosbahi.
20 Nasiri Khusraw 1970.
21 Ibn alTuwair (d. H 617 /​AD 1220).

Primary Historical Sources (in chronological order)

Al-​Mosbahi, al-​Amir alMukhtar ‘Izz almulk Mohamed ibn Ahmad (d. 1029). Akhbar Misr
prepared for publication by Ayman Fouad Sayed. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.
Nasiri Khusraw (his journey to Cairo occurred between the years 437 and 442 AH /​1045–​1052
AD). Safar-​nama A Book of Travels translated into Arabic by Yahya Al-​Khashab. Beirut: Dar
Al-​Kitaab Al-​Jadeed, 1970.
Ibn alMa’moun, Gamal Eldin Abou mossa (d. AH 588 /​AD 1092). Alseraa AlMa’mounya or Akhar
Misr prepared for publication by Ayman Fouad Sayed. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.
Ibn alTuwair, Abou Mohamed Al-​Mortady Abed Al-​Salam Ibn Ai-​Hassan Al-​Qaysarani (d. H
617 /​AD 1220). Nozhat al-​moklatin fe akhbar al-​dolatin prepared it for publication by Ayman
Fouad Sayyid. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.

43
44

Ayman Fouad Sayyid

Ibn Moyassar, Taj Eldin Mohamed ibn Ali ibn yossef (d. H 677 /​AD 1278). Al-​Montaqy Min
Akhbar Misr selected by Al-​Maqrizi H 814 /​AD 1412 prepared it for publication, Ayman
Fouad Sayyid. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 2014.
Ibn Abed Elzaher, Mohyee Eldin Abou Elfadel Abed Allah Ibn Rashid Eldin (d. H 692 /​AD
1278). Alrawda Albahia Alzahera fe Khetat Almu`zia Alkahera Edited by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid.
Beirut, Awraq Sharqia, 1996.
AlQalqashandi, Shihab Eldin Abou Alabass Ahmed Ibn Ali, (d. H 821 /​AD 1418). Subh Ala’sha fi
Sina’at Alinsha, 14 vols. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub al-​Masria, 1912–​1938.
Al-​Maqrizi, Taqi Aldin Ahmed Ibn Ali Ibn Abed Alkader (d. H 845 /​AD 1442). Itti’az alhunafa
biakhbar ala’imma alkhulafa, 4 vols. Edited by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid. London: The Institute
of Ismaili Studies, Damascus French Institute for the Near East; Cairo: Dar Al-​ Kutub
Al-​Masria, 2016.
—​—​—​. almawa’iz wa’li’tibar bidhikr alkhitat wa’lathar, 5 vols. Edited by Ayman Fu’ad Sayyid.
London: Al-​Furqan Heritage Foundation, 2013.
Abou Al-​Mahasen, Gamal Eldin yossef Ibn Taghribirdi (d. H 874 /​AD 1470).Al-​Nujūm al-​Zāhirah
fī Mulūk Miṣr wa-​al-​Qāhirah, vols. 10–​12. Cairo: Dar Al-​Kutub Al-​Masria, 1929–​1956.

Secondary Sources
Marius, C. (1952) La procession de nouvel an chez les Fatimides, AIEO X, pp. 364–​395.
Sanders, P. (1989) “From Court Ceremony to Urban Language: Ceremonies in Fatimid Cairo and
Fustat”, in The Islamic World from Classical to Modern Times (Essay in Honor of Bernard
Lewis). Princeton, NJ: Darwin Press, pp. 311–​321.
—​—​—​. (1994) Ritual, Politics and the City in Fatimid Cairo. Albany: State University of New York
Press.
Sayyid, A. (2016) Al-​dawla El-​Fatemia fi Miser new interpretation. Cairo: Al Dar Al Masria Al
Lebnania.

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4
BUILDING MAMLUK CAIRO
The Capital of a Sultanate

Omniya Abdel Barr

From 1250 to 1517, the Mamluk sultans reigned over a large territory, which comprised
Egypt, Syria, Palestine and the Hijaz. They were the custodians of the three holy cities
Makkah, Medina and Jerusalem, and oversaw several important viceroyalties, represented
in Damascus, Aleppo, Homs, Hama, Tripoli and Gaza. The Mamluks established their
new political regime in Cairo, the existing capital inherited from their Ayyubid masters,
and before them the Fatimids. The city was defined by the Nile from the west, and was
fortified from the northern and eastern sides, along the Muqattam hills. Cairo before the
Mamluks already had a well-​established urban character, with the Fatimid royal palaces,
the numerous religious foundations, and the newly built Ayyubid Citadel. The city had
a fluvial port in Fustat, and was adorned by many gardens and urban ponds. Under the
Fatimids and later the Ayyubids, Fustat remained the industrial and commercial center,
while al-​Qahira housed the royal residences. When the Mamluks came to power, Cairo
was already an important metropolis and the largest in the region. Yet, the city was about
to experience its utmost makeover.
The Mamluks were great builders, and their architecture was adventurous. They
invested in large-​scale projects, reaching unprecedent breakthroughs. The attention to the
smallest detail is striking and the levels achieved in perfecting the different craftsmanships
are impressive. They also overcome multiple engineering challenges. The Mamluk period
is regarded as a great outburst of creative design ideas and innovation. The architecture is
massive, yet not oppressive. The longer you look, the more captivated you become. Most
of the surviving medieval monuments and urban features are the result of the multiple
projects commissioned by the Mamluks and their courts. Their patronage played a fun-
damental role in the creation of Cairo’s renowned monumental legacy. The ruling class
directly controled all financial and technical aspects. As a result, Cairo developed at a
very high speed and evolved into a vibrant city, projecting the desires and ambitions of
its sponsors. This impressive patronage gave the Egyptian capital a new grand dimension
as the city emerged outside its limits. A new empirical capital was in the making.
The Mamluks inherited an existing city in transition, divided between al-​Qahira and
Fustat, with two congregational mosques: al-​Hakim in the north and ‘Amr in the south.
The city’s expansion extended under the Mamluks, who played a pivotal role in elabor-
ating Cairo’s urban landscape. Constructions multiplied in many neighbourhoods and

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-5 45
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Omniya Abdel Barr

the urban dynamism reached its climax by the mid-​14th century, during the third reign
of the Bahri sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad (r. 1309–​1340).1 Later, under the Circassian
sultans, the city stabilized with few transformations. During these splendour years, des-
pite the political instabilities, Cairo expanded and covered 21 km2. Damascus, the second
city of the Mamluk sultanate, occupied only 2.7 km2.
In this chapter, I present a chronological outline of Mamluk Cairo, through the
numerous architectural projects and the development of the urban landscape. As soon as
these monuments were elevated, they became attraction points in their neighbourhoods,
and played a role in the urban development. These key Mamluk monuments contributed
in shaping the medieval city. I propose to define “Mamluk Cairo” as the area described
in the map of the Description de l’Egypte. This includes al-​Qahira, the Fatimid city intra-​
muros in the center. Then to the east of the Khalij al-​Masri, the city’s two suburbs: Bulaq
in the north and Fustat in the south. I am also adding the extra-​muros quarters, which
are grouped in four sections: the northern quarters of Husayniyya and Raydaniyya to
the north of Bab al-​Nasr and Bab al-​Futuh; the southern quarters stretching from Bab
Zuwayla to the mosque of Ibn Tulun and the Mashhad of Sayyida Nafisa, with the
quarters of al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, Bab al-​Wazir, Suq al-​Silah, Saliba and Khalifa; the eastern
quarters of the City of the Dead with the Sahara in the north and the Qarafa in the
south; finally, the western quarters of the former port al-​Maqs, al-​Luq and al-​Nasiriyya,
contained within the area between the Khalij al-​Masri and the Khalij al-​Nasiri.
I am also following the postulate set by André Raymond, who defined that “the
city’s public monuments constitute a ‘production’ from which (by utilizing their dates
and geographical location) a study can be built up of the history of urbanization
and the evolution of urban demographics, the building of one of these monuments
normally constituting a sign of the presence of inhabitants for the religious needs of
whom they will provide”.2 This method assisted me in preparing a map to examine the
Mamluk capital and understand its structure and evolution. The map shows the major
monuments and neighbourhoods known historically till the mid-​15th century, along
with the medieval toponyms found in the Mamluk sources, especially in Maqrizi’s
Khitat and Suluk. I tried visualizing how Mamluk Cairo was shaped, by studying
the construction sites, their locations and the impact created on their surroundings
(Figure 4.1)

The First Transformations

To understand Cairo’s evolution under the Mamluks, it is essential to look back at the
city in the mid-​12th century, with the end of the Fatimids (973–​1171) and the rise of the
Ayyubids (1171–​1250). The first transformations can be traced to 1169, when the Fatimid
Caliph al-​‘Adid (r. 1160–​1171) appointed Salah al-​Din (1138–​1193), a Sunni vizier to his
court. After the Caliph’s death, Salah al-​Din abolished the Fatimid rule and installed his
own dynasty. This political disruption affected the city with a remarkable urban renewal
to overcome the ruinous state reached.
The capital was divided between two agglomerations: al-​Qahira in the north and
Fustat in the south. An ambitious fortification project was launched to protect the city
from expected threats, with a new set of walls, though it was never completed. In 1176,
Salah al-​Din took the decision to abandon the Fatimid palaces in al-​Qahira and launched
the construction of fortified royal residences on top of the Muqattam hills. The Ayyubid
ruler selected a deserted location for a citadel, centrally positioned between Fustat and

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Figure 4.1 Map of Mamluk Cairo.

al-​Qahira, and in the vicinity of the remains of the Tulunid capital “al-​Qata‘i”. Qal’at al-​
Jabal was built in the Syrian fashion, as a military citadel dominating the cityscape, and it
remained the symbol of the Egyptian ruling power under the Ayyubids, the Mamluks as
well as the Ottomans until 1874, when Abdin Palace was inaugurated by Khedive Ismail
(r. 1863–​1879).
When the Mamluks came to power, Cairo had not one, but two citadels: Qal’at
al-​Jabal and Qal‘at al-​Rawda. The later was built by the seventh and last Ayyubid Sultan
al-​Salih Najm al-​Din (r. 1240–​1249), who left Qal’at al-​Jabal, due to the unstable political
situation, and moved his family and mamluks to the island of al-​Rawda. This transfer did
not last long. Following his death and the establishment of the Mamluk sultanate, Qal’at
al-​Jabal became once again the official ruling headquarter. Nevertheless, this short-​
lived shift left a mark on the city. Al-​Salih placed a bridge at the opening of the canal

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Omniya Abdel Barr

and ordered the construction of belvédères (manazir) on Mount of Yashkur or Qal‘at

al-​Kabsh, to the west of the Mosque of Ibn Tulun. Simultaneously, construction sites
emerged on the banks of Birkat al-​Fil.3 These projects were the first sparks which slowly
triggered the urbanization of the northern section of the intermediate zone between
al-​Qahira and Fustat.4 The creation of Qal’at al-​Rawda also impacted Fustat, as it com-
pelled the regime’s dignitaries and elites to invest in constructions opposite the island.
At the end of the Fatimid period, some viziers were already living in Fustat. However,
the southern suburb thrived further during the reign of al-​Salih, and the transfer of
the seat of power from the Muqattam hills to Rawda Island.5 Few projects were later
commissioned by Mamluk elites,6 though the Mamluks generally favoured al-​Qahira and
invested less in Fustat.
During the Ayyubid period, al-​Qahira lost its privileged Fatimid status of a “princely
city”, and welcomed an invasion of a civilian population. Crafts and luxury trades
followed their clientele inside the city, while the less noble installations remained in
Fustat, such as naval construction sites, sugar and soap refineries and grain and whole-
sale warehouses.7 The Mamluks did not abandon the heart of al-​Qahira, the city of the
Fatimids, as was customary. On the contrary, driven by the desire to be seen and noticed,
they took the decision to place their prestigious religious complexes exactly where the
previous dynasties had existed.
In a city as large and complex as al-​Qahira, the decision to select a location for a new
construction site was not left to chance or convenience. In fact, such a decision was made
strategically following careful studies. Since al-​Qahira was already heavily urbanized,
many Fatimid buildings had to be erased to allow for new constructions to emerge. In
other words, the Mamluks demolished the heart of al-​Qahira, and built on top of the
Fatimid remains. To make room, yes, but also to erase the memory of a shi’ite legacy?
The construction politics already in place under the Ayyubids intensified with the
Mamluks. The city was a place of diverse construction and restoration activities, but also
a place of destruction and renovation. The main expansions targeted two areas: first, to
the west of the canal, since the course of the Nile shifted further east, and new land oppor-
tunities appeared; then second, to the intermediate zone between al-​Qahira and Fustat.
By shifting the royal residences once again to Qal‘at al-​Jabal, new quarters emerged
under the Citadel and around the Mosque of Ibn Tulun. This area changed significantly
for political reasons but also for military ones. Abu-​Lughod described this expansion as
the biggest transformation in the city.8 The main north-​south avenue “al-​Qasaba” was
extended, crossing al-​Saliba, and connected these new quarters to al-​Qahira: from Bab
Zuwayla to the Mausoleum of Sayyida Nafisa. The new quarters extra-​muros developed
into highly urbanized and populated sectors. Soon enough, they started competing with
the older quarters intra-​muros.
The historical cemeteries were also subject to intensive expansion and develop-
ment: from their northern limits to the south of the Citadel, from Bab al-​Qarafa through
the Mausoleum of Imam al-​Shafi‘i (d. 820) and further south to al-​Qarafa al-​Sughra. This
renowned mausoleum, with the largest dome in Cairo, was commissioned by the Ayyubid
Sultan al-​Kamil (r. 1218–​1238). A mosque was built earlier by Salah al-​Din. The com-
plex of Imam al-​Shafi’i was built in an area already housing other saintly tombs, such as
Imam al-​Layth and of Sidi ‘Uqba.9 In 1217, Ibn Jubayr visited the area and expressed his
fascination with the architecture, describing the surroundings as a standalone city, with
its infrastructure and equipment.10 The Mamluks first erected their funerary complexes
in this area, before shifting north-​east of the Citadel, and populating the Northern

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Cemeteries or al-​Sahara’. Maqrizi stated how these northern parts were empty until the
third reign of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad.

Reshaping the Heart of an Existing City

Bayn al-​Qasrayn, the area housing the renowned Fatimid palaces in the heart of
al-​Qahira, experienced complete makeover and went through massive phases of alter-
ations. Today, very few Fatimid vestiges survive, and the center of their capital was
replaced with masterpieces of the highest order, reflecting the competitive ambitions of
the Mamluk sultans and their Ayyubid masters.11 Bayn al-​Qasrayn remains the most stra-
tegic and celebrated spot in the medieval city, overlooking the main avenue: al-​Qasaba
or al-​Shari‘ al-​A‘tham, known today as al-​Mu’izz street. The destruction of the Fatimid
palaces was initiated by the Ayyubids. Some spaces were converted into residences for
the new aristocracy. Others were cleared out to reuse the land in the construction of
new religious foundations. Salah al-​Din built a khanqah and a bimaristan, but both have
disappeared today.12 Sultan al-​Kamil completed a madrasa and a rab‘ on a piece of land
which used to house parts from the western palaces.13 Furthermore, Sultan al-​Salih
demolished a section from the eastern palaces to elevate his two madrasas.14
Shajar al-​Durr took the bold decision to place the mausoleum of her deceased
husband within his religious foundation, in that same central location in the city.
She demolished the qa‘a dedicated to the Maliki Shaykh, in the northern section of
al-​Salih’s madrasa, and constructed a dome. By doing so, the first and last Mamluk
queen established a new trend in Cairo’s monumental architecture, which largely
remodeled the cityscape. Shajar al-​Durr’s initiative paved the way for a new practice: to
build funerary foundations in the heart of the city. The Mamluks kept the tradition
and transformed Bayn al-​Qasrayn. This emblematic location attracted future Mamluk
and later Ottoman rulers, all eager to position their symbolic mark in the city. But this
would take some time!
Shajar al-​Durr and her new Mamluk husband, Sultan al-​Mu’izz Aybak (r. 1250–​
1257), moved outside the city, where land was abundant. She built her funerary madrasa
in the cemetery of Sayyida Nafisa, which was more the custom at the time.15 Aybak went
further away and built his madrasa in Fustat.16 Soon after in 1256, Sultan al-​Muzaffar
Qutuz (r. 1259–​1260) started the construction of his madrasa below the Citadel in Hadrat
al-​Baqar, the area which later became the site of the Madrasa of Sultan Hasan.17 A long
decade passed, before the Mamluks installed themselves in the heart of the city. In March
1262, Sultan al-​Zahir Baybars (r. 1260–​1277) launched the works on his madrasa in Bayn
al-​Qasrayn.18
A land without clear ownership was possessed by the State. It was easy to allocate land
for the ruling class outside the city, but inside the city, the situation was much more com-
plex. Inserting a new building in an existing urban fabric presented real challenges. The
only solution available was to buy existing buildings to demolish or remodel. The historic
sources do not report how al-​Salih succeeded in 1242 to acquire parts of the Fatimid
palaces to secure land for the construction of his two madrasas. Yet, with the Mamluks,
they become more descriptive. When describing a building, the historians often started
by explaining the process of acquiring the land.
Two years after Baybars became sultan, he ordered the descendants of the last Fatimid
Caliph al-​‘Adid to transfer their rights on all properties within the Fatimid palaces and
their annexes to Bayt al-​Mal.19 This is how the ownership was “legally” stripped from the

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Omniya Abdel Barr

legitimate owners and given to the Mamluk State. These properties covered very signifi-
cant areas. The transfer of ownership was essential to facilitate the purchase of existing
structures and plots of land, for future architectural projects. Clearly Baybars was aware
of the great significance of the location selected for his madrasa. The plan was adapted
over the layout of Qa’it al-​Khiyam, a reception hall attached to the mausoleum of
al-​Salih, which was by then owned by Bayt al-​Mal. By annexing the madrasa to the mau-
soleum of his old Ayyubid master, Baybars was aspiring to demonstrate respect for his
predecessor, acquire recognition from the population and consolidate the legitimacy of
the newly established sultanate.
To purchase the reception hall, a simple sale transaction was performed. The price of
the sale was estimated by the wakil of Bayt al-​Mal. However, Qa’it al-​Khiyam was not
directly sold to the sultan. It was first bought by the Hanbali Shaykh of the Madrasa of
al-​Salihiyya, who then sold it to the sultan.20 This transaction is interesting as it raises
several questions. Why an intermediate sale? Why didn’t the sultan purchase the property
directly from Bayt al-​Mal? Perhaps a new ruler should not mix personnel desires with
Public Treasury? Or maybe Baybars wanted to keep an integral and virtuous image of
the Mamluk sultan, who does not spoil other Muslim’s possessions. After the glorious
success of his military campaigns against the Crusaders, Baybars needed another project
to express the strength of his reign. This could not be achieved in Bayn al-​Qasrayn, so in
1267 he commissioned the construction of a Friday Mosque in the northern suburb of
Husayniyya, known today as al-​Zahir or Dahir in reference to the sultan and his monu-
mental mosque.21
Sultan al-​Mansur Qalawun (r. 1279–​1290) is one of Cairo’s great builders. Four years
after securing his reign, he founded in the cemetery of Sayyida Nafisa, a funerary madrasa
for his wife Fatima Khatun (d.1284), in which he later buried their son and heir al-​Salih
(d. 1288). His other son and new heir al-​Ashraf Khalil (r. 1290–​1293), who later would
put an end to the Crusader’s presence in the Holy Land, built a funerary madrasa steps
away from his brother’s tomb. One could have expected Qalawun to build his funerary
complex next to the mausoleums of his wife and sons, but this was not the case.
In 1284, Qalawun launched one of the most ambitious construction sites ever made
in Cairo, which was completed in only 13 months. It remains to this day an example
of impressive architecture, exquisite design and refined craftsmanship. For his funerary
complex, he selected a location opposite the monuments of his predecessors: al-​Salih’s
mausoleum and Baybars’s madrasa. Unlike Baybars, who did not attach a mausoleum
to his madrasa, Qalawun annexed one to his complex.22 The sultan needed a prime loca-
tion, but he also needed space. The motivation behind the construction of his funerary
foundation was not only to create a tomb and a madrasa, but primarily to establish a
hospital, which remained invisible from the main street. He modeled it on the one seen
in Damascus.23
The selected site was occupied by Dar al-​Qutubiyya, one of the halls in the prem-
ises of the western palaces.24 In this case, the building was in the possession of a des-
cendant of the Ayyubids and not the Fatimids. Mu’nissa Khatun was the daughter of
al-​Malik al-​‘Adil, and therefore still owned her property. To secure this key location and
acquire her property, the sultan himself negotiated the transaction. The sale was achieved
directly between them with no interference from Bayt al-​Mal. The sultan proposed an
exchange with Qasr al-​Zumurrud, which is confusing, as the palace was at that time in
the possession of Bayt al-​Mal. We see a shift and a more audacious move, compared
to Baybars. To close the deal, Qalawun topped the sale with an extra sum of money.25

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

It could be argued that the sale of Dar al-​Qutubiyya was a forced one, as the construc-
tion site gained an unfortunate reputation. After the inauguration of the funerary com-
plex, many angry voices were raised to oppose the sale and the project.26 Despite the bad
publicity, Qalawun’s funerary dome was not just a royal burial place, but also became a
place of ceremonies and celebrations. What was once contested as an unfair construc-
tion site became the lieu of royal traditions honoring the commencement of Mamluk
sultans and amirs. At this point, a power shift took place between the Ayyubid dome of
al-​Salih and the Mamluk dome of Qalawun. Today, when we visit this majestic complex,
only the monumentality of the architecture and the brilliance of the craftsmanship are
remembered. Qalawun gave the city an iconic Mamluk dome and a prestigious landmark.
Al-​Nasir Muhammad’s reign was very impactful on the city, which extended beyond
its walls as construction emerged in every corner. This architectural dynamism was
championed by the young sultan, who also kept the ongoing tradition of building in
Bayn al-​Qasrayn. When back in power in 1299, after an interim of four years, al-​Nasir
acquired the unfinished foundation of Sultan al-​‘Adil Katbugha (r. 1295–​1296), built
on a site previously occupied by a hammam.27 He completed the construction, replaced
Katbugha’s name on the façade’s inscription band and added a majestic minaret with
gypsum ornamentation on top of the iconic portal (Figure 4.2). This was an inevitable
move, as the foundation was adjacent to Qalawun’s monumental dome (Figure 4.3).
Al-​Nasir’s funerary madrasa extended Qalawun’s façade and created an intertwined
relation between the two structures, as father and son. Its addition enhanced the archi-
tectural dialogue with the two opposite foundations and created a balance between
the two sides of the street. This monumental cluster on Cairo’s main avenue was quasi
complete.

Figure 4.2 Detail from the minaret of al-​Nasir Muhammad.

Gift of Omar al-​Numani.

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Omniya Abdel Barr

Figure 4.3 The minarets of the complexes of Sultan Qalawun and his son al-​Nasir Muhammad,
seen from the courtyard of the Madrasa of Sultan Qalawun.

It would take eight decades for another royal construction to be erected in this
densely populated sector on Cairo’s main avenue. No other Bahri sultan succeeded ino
securing land in Bayn al-​Qasrayn. Sultan al-​Muzaffar Baybars al-​Jashankir (r. 1309),
who seized power briefly before al-​Nasir’s third reign, inserted his funerary khanqah in
a very difficult plot of land in the quarter Jamaliyya, to the north of Bayn al-​Qasrayn.28
Its entrance portal is four meters in recess compared to the main façade, which could
suggest that this part from the street was included to provide additional space.29 The
selected site was originally part of Dar al-​Wizara al-​Kubra, which stood to the north of
the Eastern palaces. When Baybars embarked on his project, he bought the remaining
parameter available from this building, which was partially ruined with few dwellings
built inside. He also bought a few houses in Fustat to use as construction material.30
The madrasa previously built by amir Qarasunqur and adjacent to Baybars’ Khanqah
also used parts from Dar al-​Wizara, which shows the large scale it once occupied.31
Two other amirs of al-​Nasir’s, known for their great rivalry, Qawsun and Bashtak, had
palaces overlooking the main avenue. Bashtak built his palace on several plots of lands
which he grouped, and Qawsun adapted an existing structure. Maqrizi suggested that
the name Bayn al-​Qasrayn also meant the palaces of these two powerful but very com-
petitive amirs.
The Mamluks were very active builders and during their reign a variety of projects
were launched. Many, if not all, were transformed into waqf, or endowment deed. This
action blocked most of the land and properties, whether urban or agriculture. Available

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

land for new constructions was scarce and very difficult to find.32 Moreover, finding land
in the city in key locations was an impossible mission. A solution was needed. In the 15th
century, a legal trick was frequently employed to allow for architectural projects to take
place. For a large-​scale construction project to happen, an istibdāl was necessary. This
meant replacing existing properties within the waqf with other ones.
In the early 14th century, this legal trick was not yet accepted and was viewed as
immoral. Sultan al-​Ashraf Sha’ban was hoping to erect his monumental madrasa in
Bayn al-​Qasrayn and wanted to take the site of Khan al-​Zakat. But the qadis opposed the
exchange as the khan was part of Sultan al-​Nasir’s endowment.33 After failing to secure
land in Cairo’s most prestigious location, the sultan picked a site next to the Citadel.
His madrasa was never completed.34 Yet, this exact istibdal was later approved for the
first Circassian sultan.35 Al-​Zahir Barquq attached his funerary khanqah to al-​Nasir’s
foundation and gave Bayn al-​Qasrayn the final majestic complex of Mamluk iconic
architecture.36
These Mamluk foundations erased the traces of the Fatimid Palaces. Today, only the
name of Bayn al-​Qasrayn survives. What was once a place of royal residencies became a
place of worship, celebration and education. Bayn al-​Qasrayn remains the prime location
in the historic city, with its rich cultural heritage and strong visual memories. Visitors
cross and admire the continuity of Cairene royal architecture, showing influences and
innovations in artistic styles and techniques. What was once the heart of the Fatimid
capital is repossessed by the Mamluks to project power, strength, creativity, superiority
and prosperity.37

A Capital Ready for More

A patron invested in a new construction to fulfil a desire or a devotion, but also for
charity: to meet the demands of an existing population, or a projected one. Soon after,
other equipment followed. A new royal foundation gets its reputation when it is consist-
ently used, therefore it should not be built in an isolated area. As a result, the selection of
the location was meaningful and sometimes it impacted the city.
The end of the tumultuous conflicts between the Mamluks and the Crusaders, then
the Ilkhanids and the Mongols, created a political stability which was reflected in the
architecture. The golden age of Mamluk art and architecture was achieved during the
brilliant rule of al-​Nasir Muhammad. His treasury was overflowing with revenues thanks
to the economic prosperity accomplished with the activation of the international trade
routes and the improved methods in agriculture. This cemented the Mamluk regime and
influenced the city’s development. New quarters emerged to the south of Bab Zuwayla,
connecting al-​Qahira to the Citadel for the first time.38 Other quarters developed to the
west of the canal such as al-​Nasiriyya. These urban interventions were not randomly
dispersed projects, but rather tentative solutions for real expansion. Al-​Nasir was the
first ruler with an urban vision, and he wanted to appropriate the city under his name.
However, these expansions did not respond to demographic growth, but rather to his own
urban ambitions. This explains the rapid decline of many areas after his death.
The construction projects launched during his reign surpassed by more than half
any other reign. Al-​Nasir spared no expense and invested like no other in architecture.
He created Diwan al-​‘ama’ir, a technical bureau in his administration, and secured its
funding. He encouraged his amirs to build and facilitated the construction operations: by
providing land, paying for the works from his personnel accounts, securing the building

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Omniya Abdel Barr

materials, and having it all supervised by his superintendents. Religious, but also public
and commercial buildings multiplied. The city was buzzing with action. The amirs
competed with their sultan, building mosques and madrasas, mausoleums and khanqahs,
wakalas and sabils, hammams and palaces. The Mamluk patrons delivered an impressive
architecture to demonstrate power and prestige.
Al-​
Nasir played a fundamental role in the improvement of Qal‘at al-​ Jabal. He
commissioned new palaces as well as the famous audience hall: the iwan.39 At the end of
al-​Nasir’s reign, he rebuilt his mosque in the Citadel and adorned the dome and minarets
with eye-​catching green tiles.40 This mosque became another important landmark in
the skyline. The Citadel contributed to the urbanization of the city’s southern limits,
with quarters stretching from outside Bab Zuwayla to the banks of Birkat al-​Fil and
around the old dig of al-​Saliba, as well as on top of Mount Yashkur in the proximity
of the Mosque of Ibn Tulun. This intermediate zone between al-​Qahira and Fustat, first
urbanized under al-​Salih, became an open arena for architectural competition.
Baybars had previously built a residence for his son at the steps of the Citadel, to dis-
tance his entourage from the population and avoid any possible frictions.41 This approach
was adopted again by al-​Nasir, who commissioned luxurious palaces for his favored
amirs to the west of the Citadel in Hadarit al-​Baqar and Midan al-​Rumayla. These two
spots became the subject of a large-​scale construction scheme. Two magnificent palaces
were built for the amirs Yalbugha al-​Yahawi and Altinbugha al-​Maridani.42 Three other
residencies were scheduled on a second plan for the amirs Qawsun, Aydijmish and
Tashtumur al-​Saqi. Later, during the first reign of al-​Nasir’s seventh son, Sultan Hasan
(r. 1347–​1351), another palace was commissioned in this busy area by amir Manjak
al-​Yusufi.43 To the west of Birkat al-​Fil, two palaces were constructed for Arghun al-​
Kamili and Baktumur al-​Saqi. These palaces were known as istabl, meaning stable. They
were smaller citadels on their own scale, housing the amir’s family, mamluks and horses.
Nothing survives today apart from two vestiges of Qawsun’s and Manjak’s once exquisite
palaces. Their remains still show details of refined princely architecture from the period
of al-​Nasir and his sons. Yet regrettably, they are hit by ruin and are seriously at risk.
Two new east-​west avenues were created in Mamluk Cairo, to rival the old saturated
Bayn al-​Qasrayn. The first avenue extended east from Bab Zuwayla to the Citadel (Darb
al-​Ahmar, al-​Tibbana and Bab al-​Wazir) and the second from Fumm al-​Khalij to the
Citadel (al-​Saliba). The urbanization of these two axes was launched thanks to the
patronage of the amirs of Sultan al-​Nasir, who commissioned princely residences and
religious foundations which easily rival any royal patronage. The axis of al-​Saliba was
launched first, with Sanjar al-​Jawli, who in 1303 ordered the construction of his madrasa/​
khanqah. During the following five decades, the amirs directed their attention to al-​
Tibbana, an area slightly urbanized and previously used as cemeteries. In 1324, Ahmad
al-​Mihmandar ordered the construction of a mosque with a rab‘ and qaysariyya.44 Then,
in 1329 Alnaq al-​Nasiri built a palace. Eight years after, Altinbugha al-​Maridani started
the construction of a mosque largely inspired by his master’s green-​domed mosque at the
Citadel. Next, Aqsunqur al-​Nasiri built his mosque, known today by the name of the
Blue Mosque.
Returning to al-​Saliba during sultan Hasan’s reign, amir Shaykhu commanded a very
ambitious project consisting of two large foundations, opposite each other. This is per-
haps the only place in the city where two street sides of Mamluk Cairo have frozen in
time. In 1349, he initiated the construction of the mosque to the north. Six years later,
he started working on the khanqah to the south. The following year, in 1356, Sargatmish

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Figure 4.4 al-​Saliba Street.

Gift of Mostafa El Sadek.

placed his madrasa on the north west corner of the Mosque of Ibn Tulun, steps away
from its spiral minaret (Figure 4.4).
Mamluk females were also great patrons, and they left a great presence in the city. In
1368, Sultan Sha‘ban’s (r. 1363–​1376) mother, Baraka Khan, offered al-​Tibbana its most
spectacular monument, when she built her impressive madrasa famed for its sophisticated
muqarnas in the entrance portal. Yet, it would be Sultan al-​Mu’ayyad Shaykh (r. 1412–​
1421) who, many decades after, imposed a strong royal presence on this east-​west avenue,
which was by then well urbanized and populated. The two monuments he erected at the
north and south ends gave this avenue a sense of power and proportion. Here again, the
choice of location was carefully studied and selected.
Sultan al-​Mu’ayyad Shaykh built with a fixed mindset, to surpass his predecessors and
intimidate his successors. In 1415 he started the construction of his mosque, on the site
of an Ayyubid prison al-​Shama‘il in which he was incarcerated before becoming sultan.45

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Omniya Abdel Barr

Mu’ayyad Shaykh inserted confidently his imposing minarets on top of the Fatimid door
of Bab Zuwayla and opposite the Duhaysha of his rival, sultan Faraj ibn Barquq (r. 1399–​
1412). This is another spot in the city in which an architectural, historical and political
dialogue persists to the present. Later, in 1418, he seized the ruined site of the Madrasa
of Sultan Sha‘ban on Maydan al-​Rumayla and completed the works, while converting
the structure into a bimaristan. One could suggest that the construction of the mosque
and bimaristan in such crucial and pivotal locations with existing urban memories was a
brilliant choice made by the sultan. It reveals his strength and perhaps his wish to crush
the memories of his predecessors. These two grand and high structures were certainly vis-
ible from different spots in the city and still dominate the medieval city’s skyline.46
Mamluk Cairo’s expansion was additionally influenced by the desire of the polit-
ical class to create ceremonial places for their games and tournaments. The planning of
maydans or hippodromes within the city responded to the demands of these ruling elites
and provided places for training and entertainment.47 The challenge was to secure the
water supply for irrigation and to maintain the ongoing activities. These training and
ceremonial fields provided equipment and infrastructure. As a result, they accelerated
the urbanization of their surroundings. Perhaps, the selection of the locations was made
with the intention of inciting an urban expansion? For example, Maydan Birkat al-​Fil
encouraged Cairenes to populate it, to the extent that it was totally urbanized during
the reign of al-​Nasir and became thereafter the construction site of the palace of amir
Baktumur al-​Saqi.48 The environs of Birkat al-​Fil had been a very popular destinations
since the early 14th century. This popularity was partially due to the maydan, but also
thanks to what the pond offers.

Mamluk Cairo and the Nile

One must not forget how Cairo was once a city of canals and belvédères. Imagine sailing
down the Khalij al-​Masri from the south, gazing east and looking at the rich silhouette
of the Mamluk city. It must have been extraordinary! The maintenance of al-​Khalij, the
canal securing the water supply to the city, was always a task high on every ruler’s agenda.
The Mamluks invested in many engineering and hydraulic structures, to protect the city
from the Nile’s ferocity and secure the accessibility to the banks of the canal. The many
bridges, qantara or jisr listed in the Mamluk sources, give an idea of the magnitude of
the work done. The digging of al-​Khalij al-​Nasiri was possibly what affected the city the
most geographically.49 The canal’s center was placed over the center of an old shore of
the Nile. This new canal was essentially created to feed another new project. Al-​Nasir’s
ambitions had no limits, so he travelled 30 kilometres northeast and launched another
challenging construction site. He selected an area around Birkat al-​Hajj and ordered the
construction of the Khanqah of Syracuse.50 This area received tremendous attention,
with the sultan’s many visits and sojourns, while escaping Cairo. In addition, al-​Nasir
added a hippodrome and a market.
Cairo’s urban landscape has always been greatly affected by the Nile. During the flood
seasons, happening at the end of the summer, canals and ponds were filled with water for
several months. Later, the water evaporated or infiltrated the soil, and the ponds were
replaced with gardens, waiting for the next flood season. These places of leisure attracted
builders, who rushed to acquire a piece of land in a good location. With such a chan-
ging natural environment, the banks of the ponds offered exciting and enjoyable views

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

throughout the year. Birkat al-​Fil was the most renowned pond in Mamluk Cairo, and it
remained an attractive location for the upper classes till the end of the Sultanate.
Around the end of the 15th century, two more neighborhoods were developed in the
north: Bulaq and Azbakiyya. Bulaq, previously an island, was connected to the city’s
banks and became Cairo’s main fluvial port, after the decline of Fustat. Azbakiyya was
a pond, around which a new aristocratic residential quarter emerged. One could pro-
pose that this second urbanization was influenced by the first, as Azbakiyya’s location is
midway between Cairo and Bulaq.51 This newly developed urban center was competing
with the old one around Birkat al-​Fil. The emerging quarter of Azbakiyya, surrounding
the pond bearing the name of the developing patron, Amir Azbak ibn Tatak, eclipsed the
attractiveness of the quarters of Birkat al-​Fil in the following centuries.

Hit by Ruin
The death of al-​Nasir Muhammad in 1341 did not stop the building activities. However,
seven years later this construction fever was reduced when the country was hit by the Black
Death. The plague attacked multiple times, and its effect left severe marks on the city.52
Mamluk Cairo lost its large and dynamic population, and many quarters were deserted.
Maqrizi reported how, in one day, the residents of an entire street died. Despite this fatal
calamity, the State became the sole beneficiary of every soul lost without inheritors, and
the treasury kept on being filled. The construction site of the Madrasa of Sultan Hasan
started in these circumstances in 1356.
A mental map of the city was painted by two great historians: Maqrizi (d. 1442) and
Ibn Duqmaq (d. 1406). Their textual inventories, written at the beginning of the 15th
century, were not made to celebrate a city, but rather to highlight a crisis. Unprecedented
difficulties occurred, and culminated during the reign of al-​Nasir Faraj (r. 1399–​1412).
Cairo’s demography was reduced, the city was facing substantial economical struggles,
and the Mamluk regime was confronting many instabilities.53 Yet, the city was not
entirely lost, and it still rivaled all other neighboring capitals. The Egyptian historian
al-​Qalqashandi (1355–​1418), who was responsible for the Mamluk chancellery during
the reign of Sultan al-​Zahir Barquq, wrote in his 14-​volume encyclopedia “Subh al-​a‘sha
fi sina‘at al-​insha” some lines describing the image of Mamluk Cairo at his time:

The architecture of Cairo is continuing at all times to flourish, and its landmarks
are being rejuvenated. Especially after the ruin of Fustat and the displacement
of its inhabitants towards the city, as previously described, until Cairo reached its
current image: with magnificent palaces, grand residences, and vast houses, with
extended markets and enjoyable belvédères, and delightful mosques, pleasant
madrasas, and sumptuous khanqah. It is something unheard of in any other
territory and has no equivalent in another country.54

Despite all these challenges, the process of commissioning and launching new construc-
tion sites for the ruling elite was not severely affected. A ruined city meant that more plots
of land were made available. The city’s image was about to change again. A new dynasty
was in place under the Circassian Mamluks, and the State’s revenues was concentrated in
the hands of one man: the sultan, who became the only builder. The construction fever
of the past century would quieten.

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Omniya Abdel Barr

The Mamluk Desert: al-​Sahara’

During the Bahri period, the Mamluk amirs continued the tradition of building mauso-
leums in the Qarafa, to the north and south of the Mausoleum of Imam al-​Shafi‘i and
close to ahl al-​bayt. Few mausoleums for non-​princely patrons were built in the nor-
thern cemeteries, the area which was later called al-​Sahara’ by the Mamluk historians.
Two wives of al-​Nasir also erected mausoleums there. It was with al-​Nasir Faraj that
the al-​Sahara’ became a destination for royal and princely patronage. Faraj needed space
and the city was saturated, so he chose to place his funerary khanqah in this remote
site to the north of the historic cemeteries. He accomplished his father’s request and
buried him in the desert and not in his mausoleum in Bayn al-​Qasrayn. The building
was not yet completed when he placed his father to rest under the main dome.55 The pre-
mature death of the young sultan stopped his projected expansion plans in this remote
area. Nevertheless, this first initiative encouraged the following sultans to invest in this
new location, outside the city walls. The Mamluk sultans and amirs launched numerous
funerary complexes, and secured the urban equipment needed for the communities. Faraj
had already attached two sabils to his khanqah to provide drinking water.
Eight years, after completing a funerary madrasa to the south of Bayn al-​Qasrayn
on al-​Shari‘ al-​Atham, al-​Ashraf Barsbay (r. 1422–​1437) directed his attention to the al-​
Sahara’ and ordered the construction of a second mausoleum, in which he was buried.
He attached it to a mosque-​khanqah. Sultan Inal (r. 1453–​1461) moved a bit away and
placed his funerary complex to the north of Faraj and Barsbay’s. Half a century later,
Amir Qurqumas joined the site of Inal and created a large complex with a monumental
mausoleum.
The peak reached was with sultan al-​Ashraf Qaytbay (r. 1468–​1496) and the construc-
tion of his magnificent funerary complex, which he started in 1470, along with a loggia
and a drinking trough. Qaytbay placed his complex to the south of his predecessors. This
building was the first of many more architectural projects completed in the artistic excel-
lence characterizing his reign. The Sahara’ was a less active version of Bayn al-​Qasrayn,
with royal foundations built on both sides of the main street. Its domes and minarets
attracted many visitors in the following centuries, as it was on the routes of the traveling
caravans to Syria and the Hijaz. It is a place built to commemorate the dead, but from
its inception it has also been a place dedicated for the living. It could be seen as a parallel
city to the city (Figure 4.5).

The Capital’s Final Appearance

The Mamluk capital regained its past Bahri splendour, when al-​Ashraf Qaytbay was
made sultan (r. 1468–​1496). The city was spread out. Many of his amirs and dignitaries
built in the city. Qaytbay chose al-​Sahara’ for this funerary complex, but he also erected
a madrasa in Qal’at al-​Kabsh and the first standalone sabil-​kuttab in al-​Saliba. Despite
the previous restoration efforts made by sultan al-​Zahir Jaqmaq (r. 1438–​1453), many
buildings and equipment remained dilapidated. Under Qaytbay, and like no other sultan,
major interventions took place. The sultan ordered the restoration and rescue of many
buildings from both Mamluk periods. I consider the addition he made to the Khanqah of
Faraj ibn Barquq one of his finest works. He gifted this monument with a stone minbar
and a dikka, which are masterpieces and reveal a sophisticated craftsmanship (Figure 4.6).
In addition, Qaytbay restored the ruined structures included in the waqf of the restored

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Figure 4.5 al-​Sahara’, entitled “Cairo: Tombs of the Khalifs”.

Unknown photographer –​Victoria and Albert Museum: 338-​1924.

foundations. The restoration efforts consolidated the city’s commercial activities.56 His
ruling elite also assumed responsibility towards their city and had an interest in the con-
cept of aesthetics and cleanliness, which reflected on public health.57 The sultan’s efforts
were not limited to Cairo, but also extended to the three holy cities.58
Throughout the Mamluk period, and even under the many epidemic and stormy
phases, Cairo’s urban development and architectural enrichment never stopped. If we
look at Meinecke’s list of Cairo’s diverse structures commissioned by the political and
bureaucratic classes, we notice how the investment in architecture multiplied with very
few interruptions.59 Qaytbay and later Qansuh al-​Ghuri (r. 1501–​1516) presented the city
with its finest monuments (Figure 4.7). This shows how till the very end, the level of
finesse and sophistication in Mamluk architecture persisted. At the beginning of the 16th
century, the Mamluk capital was still an exciting city admired and appreciated by visitors.
This would change dramatically under the Ottoman rule, when Cairo lost the investments
of great patrons and the status of an imperial capital.

Conclusion
The Mamluk sultanate was put to an end by the Ottomans in 1517. Despite the abrupt
and violent ending to their rule, their legacy continues today, and their patronage is
acknowledged in the elegant monuments they have left behind. The Mamluks created an
audacious and extravagant city and were the driving force behind developing the urban
environment. By holding power over policies and economies, they controlled the archi-
tectural projects and the urban infrastructure. At the end of the Mamluk sultanate, Cairo
had reached its limits. The city was reduced in the following centuries. At the time of the
French expedition in 1798, Cairo’s size was confined to only 8.5 km2, less than half.60
Even during such periods of decline, the city still exceeded Baghdad’s in its prime.61

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Omniya Abdel Barr

Figure 4.6 Detail from the minbar of Qaytbay at the Funerary Khanqah of Faraj b. Barquq.
Egyptian Heritage Rescue Foundation.

At the beginning of the sultanate, the Mamluk capital was subject to intense architec-
tural and urban activities. A real construction fever took over the city and pushed it in all
directions beyond the Ayyubid limits. The Mamluk sultans and their political entourage
gave the medieval city its current historic image. Adorned with a magnitude of multifunc-
tional monuments, the Egyptian capital was gifted with a historical architectural glory.
Thanks to the almost continuous chain of construction sites, the city turned the page on
its Fatimid and Ayyubid heritage and crafted a new legacy with the Mamluks. At the turn
of the 14th century, five decades after the establishment of their empire, the Mamluks
were the most important power in the Mediterranean. Their capital became one of the
most venerated megalopolises.
Though, what were they erecting? The builders of Mamluk Cairo launched different
types of construction. Mamluk Cairo did not have a special department responsible to
manage the city’s urban development, and provide it with the needed infrastructure and

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Figure 4.7 The Mausoleum of Sultan al-​Ashraf Qaytbay.

Gift of Almoatasem Bellah Haggag.

service buildings for the different communities. All these variant construction projects are
the result of the political class and civilian elites’ private initiatives. Surely, sometimes we
find serious tentative projecting the expansion of a quarter or the urbanization of a waste-
land. However, such huge operations remain the work of individuals and not institutions.
The only official body present was the endowment system. In short, the urbanization of
Mamluk Cairo rested on the desires of the political class and the waqf system.
The political class invested largely in religious, educational and funerary foundations.
They spent generously for the construction of their residences and places of power. They
also gave the city engineering and hydraulic installations necessary to protect it from
the Nile’s flooding. Furthermore, they commissioned multiple service buildings, such as
public baths (hammams) and apartment blocks (rab‘), which were usually added in waqf
for their financial rentability. Moreover, as Cairo grew into an important destination in
international trade, the city built wakalas’,

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Omniya Abdel Barr

These new buildings sent different messages, explaining the reasons for which they
were made. The Mamluks built in their capital to spread an image of piety and virtue, to
establish places of worship but also of learning and education. These sponsors embarked
on numerous construction projects to leave a trace commemorating their name, but also
for this name to resonate and impress. They spent large sums of money to show power
and strength and their elevated ranks. Sometimes, the reason for this architectural dyna-
mism was simply to keep a promise. Moreover, they built for the city, to embellish it,
develop it and maintain its renowned image and prestige as the capital of a powerful
sultanate.
Under the Ottoman rule, the imposing character of the Mamluk city was not altered,
erased or pushed aside. Instead of continuing more expansion, the city densified the
Mamluk alignment and boundaries. Many years after the fall of the Mamluk Sultanate,
and even today, one could still feel the Mamluk soul and patronage over the medieval
city. By observing the style of Cairene architecture built under the Ottomans, throughout
the following three centuries, it is possible to notice how the builders of Cairo kept the
Mamluk traditions and built with the same architectural techniques. Naturally, new
influences occurred, but the craftsmen of Cairo remained mostly faithful to the rules and
features set by the Mamluk master craftsmen. This singularity and strong character were
immediately spotted, five centuries after, by the architects commissioned by the Baron
Empain. It was this Mamluk style that influenced the European architects when they
started designing a new city in the desert.

Notes
1 The sultan rule was interrupted twice: 1/​1294–​1295; 2/​1299–​1309; 3/​1309–​1340.
2 A. Raymond 2003, 146–​167.
3 T. Al-​Maqrizi 1934–​1972, 1: 341; 2000–​2004, 3: 439, 484, 485, 585, 586.
4 This area will not be fully urbanized until the mid-​20th century.
5 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2000–​2004, 2: 146.
6 Like al-​Afram, a powerful amir who started his career under the Ayyubids. He built a trench
and a massive estate at the south of the city. T. Al-​Maqrizi 2000–​2004, 4,2: 804.
7 J.-​C. Garcin 1982, 162.
8 During the Fatimid period, this area was occupied by Sudanese soldiers. Salah al-​Din destroyed
their barracks and started developing this area into parks and gardens. See J. Abu-​Lughod
1971, 30.
9 Imam al-​Layth b. Sa‘ad (712–​791) was born in Qalqashanda in the Delta. His mausoleum was
first built during the Ayyubid period and then renovated by Sultan al-​Ghuri. Imam al-​Layth
could have had his own school of Islamic law and jurisprudence, but it is said that his disciples
did not invest enough in his teaching after his death. Sidi ‘Uqba was one of the first conquerors
who came with ‘Amr b. al-​‘As. While visiting the area in 2013, a craftsperson owning a tile work-
shop in the area explained that his grandfather told him how visitors at the turn of the 20th
century removed their shoes before entering the area, and reaching the three mausoleums.
10 Ibn Jubayr 2003, 40.
11 N. AlSayyad 1994, 74.
12 D. Behrens-​Abouseif 2007, 51.
13 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2000–​2004, 2: 425.
14 M. Ibn Abd al-​Zahir 1996, 85.
15 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004 3, 56.
16 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 3: 586.
17 M. Ibn Iyas 1961, 1, 1: 308.
18 T. Al-​Maqriz, 2002–​2004, 4,2: 505; A. Ibn Taghri Birdi 1963–​1972, 7: 120. The madrasa was
demolished in 1874 with the opening of the street of Bayt al-​Qadi.

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

19 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 2: 286–​287.

20 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,2: 505.
21 This is the first Friday Mosque built by the Mamluks. For more about the choice of this loca-
tion, see D. Behrens-​Abouseif 2007, 121; T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,1: 188.
22 Baybars is buried in Damascus.
23 Bimaristan Nur al-​Din.
24 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 2: 286, 4,2: 692. Dar al-​Qutubiyya is the palace of Sitt al-​Mulk, the
Fatimid princess, and the sister of the Caliph al-​Adid. This palace was previously known by the
residency of Amir Fahr al-​Din Jaharkas. It was enclosed within the western palaces. At the end
of the Fatimid rule, Salah al-​Din gave this palace to his brother al-​Malik al-​Adil. The palace
became later known as Dar al-​Qutubiyya, the daughter of al-​Adil.
25 Qasr al-​Zumurrud was part of the eastern complex of the Fatimid palaces and overlooked
Rahbit Bab al-​‘Id.
26 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,2: 698.
27 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,2: 524.
28 It is also the oldest surviving khanqah in Cairo.
29 L. Fernandes 1987, 32.
30 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,2: 732.
31 Amir Qarasunqur built in 1300–​1301 his madrasa on parts of the site of Dar al-​Wizara. Sultan
Baybars al-​Jashankir erected his khanqah in 1307, adjacent to this madrasa. T. Al-​Maqrizi
2002–​2004, 4,2: 556.
32 L. Fernandes 2000, 206. S. Denoix 1999, 24.
33 T. Al-​Maqrizi 1934–​72, 2: 690.
34 The madrasa of Sultan al-​Ashraf Sha’ban was demolished by Sultan Faraj b. Barquq. The
site was acquired by sultan al-​Mu’ayyid Shaykh, for his bimaristan. T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004,
4,2: 702.
35 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,2: 680.
36 Worth noting that Muhammad Ali Pasha (r. 1805–​1848) introduced two sabīl on the main
qasaba. He built the first in 1822 nearby Bab Zuwayla and the second in memory of his son
Ismail Pasha in 1829, opposite the complexes of Qalawun and al-​Nasir’s. This shows how the
importance of Bayn al-​Qasrayn and Cairo’s main avenue persisted till the 19th century.
37 Regrettably for the Mamluk patrons, these historically renowned royal foundations have lost
their religious and educational functions. Prayers are no longer held, and the spaces have been
converted into tourist and artistic attractions.
38 He reigned for three periods. First at the age of ten from 1295 to 1296. Then again, from 1299
to 1309. And finally, again from 1309 to 1340.
39 It survives in the drawings published in the Description de l’Egypte, as it was later destroyed by
Muhammad Ali for his emblematic mosque.
40 It is believed that the tiles originated from Tabriz.
41 A. Ibn Taghri Birdi 7, 190.
42 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 3: 233.
43 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4,1: 308.
44 N. Warner 2005, 106.
45 This prison was built during the reign of Sultan al-​Kamil.
46 N. Hampikian 2012, 204.
47 See J.-​C. Garcin 1984, 114–​130.
48 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 3: 630.
49 J. Abu-​Lughod 1971, 35.
50 A. Raymond 1993, 129.
51 For Bulaq see N. Hanna 1983, and for Azbakiyya see D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1985.
52 M. Dols 1977, 211.
53 J. Loiseau 2010, 15.
54 S. Al-​Qalqashandi 1913, 3: 370.
55 D. Behrens-​Abouseif 2007, 231.
56 For more information on Qaytbay’s patronage, see D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1998.
57 In 1477, Yashbak b. Mahdi, an amir of Sultan Qaytbay, ordered some façade repairs. D. Behrens-​
Abouseif 2007, 62.

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Omniya Abdel Barr

58 A list of restoration projects implemented by Qaytbay in Cairo, Jerusalem, Makkah and Medina
is compiled in my PhD thesis, 2015.
59 Meinecke, M., 1992.
60 S. Makariou 2012, 241.
61 Baghdad was the capital of the Abbasids Caliphs in the 10th century.

Images by author unless indicated otherwise.

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in Cairo Press, pp. 203–​222.
Garcin, J.-​C. (1982) Habitat médiéval et histoire urbaine à Fustat et au Caire, in Palais et maisons
du Caire, l’époque Mamlouke (XIII-​XVI siècle). Paris: CNRS, pp. 143–​215.
—​—​—​. (1984) Toponymie et topographie urbaines médiévales à Fustat et au Caire, Journal of the
Economic of Social history of the Orient 29(2), 113–​155.
Hampikian, N. (2012) Mu’ayyad Shaykh and the landscape of power, Annales Islamologiques 49,
195–​214.
Hanna, N. (1983) An Urban History of Būlāq in the Mamluk and Ottoman Periods. Cahier des
Annales Islamologiques 3. Cairo: Institut français d’archélogie orientale.
Ibn ‘Abd al-​Zahir, M. (1996) al-​Rawḍa al-​bahiyya al-​ẓāhira fī ḫiṭāṭ al-​mu‘iziyya al-​Qahira, ed. Fuad
Sayyif. Beirut: Awraq Sharkiyya.
Ibn Iyas, M. (1961) Badā’i‘ al-​zuhūr fī waqā’i‘ al-​duhūr. ed. Muḥammad Mustafa. Bibliotheca
Islamica. 5 vols. Cairo: Frank Steiner.
Ibn Jubayr, A. (2003) The travels of ibn Jubayr. Translation by R.J.C. Broadhurst. London: Darf.
Ibn Tagri Birdi, A. (1963–​1972) al-​Nuǧūm al-​zāhira fī mulūk Miṣr wa-​l-​Qāhira, 16 vols. Cairo: Dar
al-​Kutub al-​miṣriyya.
Raymond, A. (2003) al-​Maqrizi’s Khitat and the Urban Structure of Mamluk Cairo, Mamluk studies
Review 7(2), 146–​167.
—​—​—​. (1993) Le Caire. Paris: Fayard.

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Building Mamluk Cairo: The Capital of a Sultanate

Loiseau, J. (2010) Reconstruire la Maison du Sultan, 1350-​1450. Ruine et recomposition de l’ordre

urbain au Caire, 2 vols. Cairo: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale.
Makariou, S. (2012) Les arts de l’Islam au musée du Louvre. Hazan. Paris: Musée du Louvre.
Meinecke, M. (1992) Die Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien (648/​1250 bis 923/​1517),
2 vols. Glückstadt: Augustin GMBH.
Warner, N (2005) The Monuments of Historic Cairo. A Map and Descriptive Catalogue. Cairo,
New York: ARCE Conservation Series I, American University in Cairo Press.

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5
COOPTING THE STREET
The Urban Character of Mamluk
Architecture in Cairo

Nasser Rabbat

When the Mamluks rose to power in 1250, Cairo was still a city struggling to define its
character and territorial boundaries and assert its supremacy in the region. First founded
as a garrison town (Ar. misr) at the strategic head of the Nile delta after the Islamic
conquest in 641, the city, originally called al-​Fustat, grew for the first three centuries of
its existence by annexing its northern settlements and erasing their names. In 969 a rect-
angular camp established for the invading Fatimids, also to the north, became al-​Qahira
(the Victorious), whence came Cairo, the new capital of this Isma‘ili Shi‘ite Caliphate.
The city was initially reserved for the Caliph, his retinue, and the various divisions of his
army and supporters; no commoners were allowed to dwell there. A citadel, built by Salah
al-​Din (Saladin) in the 1170s on an outcrop to the east of the Nile at an almost equidis-
tant from the centers of al-​Qahira and al-​Fustat, became the hub of a newly walled area
comprising the two older urban cores and leaving huge swathes of land vacant within.
Salah al-​Din never proclaimed this growing conglomeration as his capital, and his defen-
sive project was not completed after his death. His Ayyubid successors treated his sul-
tanate as an aggregate of principalities, each ruled by a royal prince, with Egypt as the
most coveted and most prominent dominion. But Cairo was in constant competition with
Damascus and, to a lesser extent, Aleppo as the premier city of the sultanate.
The Mamluks changed the ruling system they inherited. They established a centralized
authority, elevated Cairo to be the capital of their extensive sultanate, and made its
Citadel the seat of government and the residence of the sultan, his great amirs and his
royal Mamluks. At first, Mamluk urban interventions followed the Ayyubid pattern
aimed at filling the sparsely populated land between Fatimid al-​Qahira, the Citadel, and
the northern reaches of al-​Fustat, which was still functioning as an administratively inde-
pendent city. But the power, prosperity and stability of the sultanate during the long reign
of al-​Nasir Muhammad ibn Qalawun (r. 1293–​1341 with two interruptions) resulted in
a building boom that joined the two older cities and made the walls irrelevant. By the
middle of the fourteenth century, the city had more than doubled in size and had spread
west into areas that had until then been farmland or marshland recovered from the west-
erly receding Nile river.1 This urban growth was not haphazard. Al-​Nasir had a keen
interest in controlling and directing it.2 He sponsored several projects aimed at providing
new zones for building, new sources for drinking water and new community structures

66 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-6
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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

such as mosques and hammams, so as to create new urban loci around which people
would build their residences. He also encouraged his amirs to focus their constructions
in areas he designated, and he even absorbed some of the construction costs.3 It is true
that the city shrunk in the fifteenth century due to a combination of economic, military
and natural disasters, but the core of the Mamluk city that was built up by al-​Nasir
Muhammad remained firmly urbanized to the present day.4

Appropriating the City

The concentration of almost the entire Mamluk ruling class –​sultans, amirs, the army,
the chancery –​in Cairo made the city the natural arena for the public display of power
and pomp.5 The sultans presided over various processions and public rituals –​some
revived, others invented –​to mark special functions, dates, events or persons.6 They
opened up parts of the Citadel to the public on a regular basis for certain state functions
so as to temporarily remove the barriers that existed between the ruler and his people. On
religious holidays, coronation days and celebrations of military victories, the Mamluks
paraded in carefully designed processions that crossed the city from north to south or
east to west and stopped at designated landmarks to perform highly flamboyant char-
itable acts, before reaching the Citadel, the scene of most ceremonies’ finales.7 On other
occasions the public display of the Mamluk might took place in the maydan (hippo-
drome) under the citadel, or in one of the other mayadin (plural of maydan) around the
city where the Mamluks performed furusiyya (equestrian exercises, which was the prin-
cipal form of Mamluk military training) and played polo al kura or al akra (polo) as open
spectacles that highlight their gallantry, martial skills and prowess.8
Another image that the Mamluks were keen on publicly asserting was their commitment
to Islam and the well-​being of Muslims. In the city, they endowed mosques for the
faithful, madrasas to educate a new class of ulama who will fill the ranks of the adminis-
tration and religious institutions, ribats and khanqahs to lodge the sufis and acculturate
the unruly elements among them, bimaristans (hospitals), caravanserais, city walls and
water tanks to fulfill their public duty, and mausolyea to commemorate themselves and to
aggrandize their deeds. These structures were concentrated in the city center. They lined
up the major thoroughfares, especially those that had ceremonial functions such as the
north-​south al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam (Grand Street, today al-​Mu‘izz Street) and the east-​west
axis known as al-​Saliba al-​Kubra (The Great Crossing).9
Mamluk patrons vied with each other to procure the best location that provided
maximum street exposure and the highest visibility to their buildings, with the most
commanding sites obviously going to sultans. In the overcrowded public space of Cairo,
builders had to resort to a number of architectural tricks to compensate for the limited
frontage available and to grab the attention of the passer-​by. They constructed tightly
composed façades with layered surfaces and cleverly placed recesses, which exploited the
contours of the street in such a way to be seen from all possible angles. They emphasized
the verticality of certain choice elements such as arched portals with trilobed conches
and geometric decorative patterns, tall and tiered minarets with bulbous finials, and
slender, carved stone domes with high drums and tapered profiles. The end result was
multi-​volume buildings arranged to both accommodate and dominate their urban
surroundings and to reflect and represent their patrons’ wealth and ceremonial pomp.10
In this ingenious scheme, the street itself became a component of the design process: its
contours, width, straight lines, angles and turns were incorporated in the composition

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Nasser Rabbat

of the building, and, sometimes, enhanced, exaggerated, or even invented altogether to

accentuate a view or to appropriate some additional space. Thus, instead of accepting
streets’ shape as fixed and inviolable, Mamluk architects manipulated the winding street
layout of Cairo for maximum visual effect and even for some area gain by enclosing parts
of the street within the recesses and projections of their buildings’ façades.11
This urban character of Mamluk architecture is best illustrated in the structures along
the main ceremonial route inside the city, which extended from Bab al-​Nasr in the north
to the citadel. This route can be divided into two distinct sections: the relatively straight
main thoroughfare, al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam inside the original walls of Fatimid al-​Qahira,
and al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, an elongated arcuate street that begins right outside the Bab
Zuwayla, the imposing southern gate of Fatimid al-​Qahira, and ends below the Citadel’s
ramparts.12 Al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam, established originally as the ceremonial avenue of the
Fatimids, seems to have been reserved exclusively for royal religious complexes. It received
eight major sultanian religious endowments between the 1240s and 1517, the final year
of Mamluk rule, in addition to several palaces and commercial structures.13 The first
complex was the madrasa/​mausoleum of al-​Salih Najm al-​Din Ayyub, the last of the
Ayyubids and the master of the first six Mamluk sultans. Constructed in 1242 over the
frontal area of the Fatimid Eastern Palace, the complex was extended by a mausoleum
for al-​Salih built after his death in 1249 by his consort Shajar al-​Durr, who became the
first Mamluk sultana for a short period. The last complex was that of Sultan Qansuh al-​
Ghuri (built between 1503 and 1505), which comprised two buildings straddling the main
thoroughfare: a mosque on the western side and a khanqah, sabil-​kuttab and funerary
dome on the eastern side.14
Al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, on the other hand, seems to have become the patronage domain
of the Great Amirs. Many of them built their charitable complexes there, with only one
major complex, the madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban (Mother of Sultan Sha‘ban)
(1368–​1369), ascribed to a sultan, Sha‘ban, but most probably built upon orders of his
mother, Khawand Baraka, and her powerful second husband, Amir Uljay al-​Yusufi.15 By
the end of the Mamluk period, al-​Darb al-​Ahmar and the area around it had acquired
more than 40 Mamluk monuments, making it the locus of non-​sultanian Mamluk archi-
tecture in Cairo. Analyzing the complex visual, spatial and planar relationship between
the main Mamluk structures in al-​Darb al-​Ahmar and the street will best elucidate the
particular urban character of the Mamluk Cairene architecture.

Setting the Scene

Al-​Darb al-​Ahmar street starts outside Bab Zuweila and runs almost due east behind the
Fatimid Mosque of al-​Salih Tala’i‘ (1160) along the royal city walls. It then bifurcates
and the main branch takes a mild turn to the southeast in front of the late Mamluk
Mosque of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi (1480–​1481) and runs straight to the corner of the Mosque
of Ahmad al-​Mihmindar (1324–​1325). At that point, the street makes a sharp turn fur-
ther to the south and continues more or less uninterrupted for almost a kilometer until
it comes to the side of the Mosque of Aytamish al-​Bagasi (1383). There it turns very
slightly to the southwest and rises up slightly until it hits the Sikkat al-​Mahjar (Passage
of the Quarry) at the foot of the hill upon which the Citadel stands. After that intersec-
tion, the street tilts considerably to the southeast and metamorphoses into the famous
ascending Sikkat al-​Mudarraj (Passage of the Stairway), carved in the rock, which led
originally to the main Ayyubid gate of the Citadel, the Bab al-​Mudarraj (Gate of the

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

Stairway). Al-​Darb al-​Ahmar formed the sole route to the Citadel for the citizens coming
from the city throughout the Mamluk period.16
At first glance, the wide arcuate shape of al-​Darb al-​Ahmar is incomprehensible as it
clearly diverges from the dominant orientation of the main streets connecting al-​Qahira
with al-​Fustat to the south. The two other main Mamluk streets south of Bab Zuwayla,
known today as al-​Khiyameya and Suq al-​Silah Streets, follow the alignment of the main
north-​south streets inside the royal al-​Qahira, especially al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam (al-​Mu‘izz
street) and al-​Gamaleya Streets. They all clearly conform to the orientation of al-​Khalij,
the main canal that brought the Nile water to the Fatimid capital, and per force the basic
axis in that urban environment. Only al-​Darb al-​Ahmar deviates from this obviously
intentional planning scheme, and this must have been for an overriding reason.17
Al-​Darb al-​Ahmar gradually grew as the umbilical cord that linked the old Fatimid
capital al-​Qahira, which slowly became the hub of economic life in the early Mamluk
period, to the Citadel, the new seat of government and the center of the empire. We
have no exact date for the urbanization of this area south of Fatimid al-​Qahira, but al-​
Maqrizi, our main source for the history of Mamluk Cairo, states that one of the Fatimid
extra-​muros neighborhoods, Harat al-​Yaniseya, extended outside the walls to the east and
south of Bab Zuwayla.18 Al-​Maqrizi also informs us that the first monument to be built
outside of Bab Zuwayla was the Mosque of al-​Salih Tala’i‘ in the middle of the Fatimid
period, and that the rest of the area south and east of the Mosque became a cemetery for
the inhabitants of al-​Qahira afterward until the end of the Fatimid Caliphate.19 The area
began slowly to be built up in the twelfth century after the construction of the Citadel,
but the cemetery seems to have been left relatively undisturbed well into the fourteenth
century when several Mamluk amirs chose to build their religious complexes along the
paths that had evolved between Bab Zuwayla and the Citadel. The development of the
other end of al-​Darb al-​Ahmar under the Citadel must have started at an earlier date
since we have the ruins of at least one major structure, the Palace of Amir Alin Aq,
dated to before 1293, standing 300 meters down from the beginning of the street below
the Sikkat al-​Mahjar.20 We know little about other major structures in the vicinity of the
Palace of Alin Aq before the middle of the fourteenth century.
Goods were transported daily along al-​Darb al-​Ahmar’s spine to supply the Citadel,
home of the Mamluk army and court, with its needed provisions. Citizens traversed it
to reach the part of the Citadel that was open to them, especially on Fridays or on the
two days of dar al-​‘adl (dispensation of justice), Monday and Thursday, when the sultan,
starting with al-​Zahir Baybars in 1262, sat in public to look into the grievances (al-​nazar
fi-​l-​mazalim) brought to his attention.21 Conversely, al-​Darb al-​Ahmar was the favorite
path along which the Mamluks came down from the Citadel to the city for business or
pleasure. It formed the last stretch of the processional route of al-​mawkib al-​sultani (royal
procession) taken by the sultan in major ceremonies, such as coronation day and victory
parades. The sultan would ride through al-​Qahira from the north through the Bab al-​
Nasr (Victory Gate) and come out from the Bab Zuwayla riding along al-​Darb al-​Ahmar
to the horse market below the Citadel. He then would enter the Citadel from the Bab
al-​Silsila (the Chain Gate) and proceed up to the Great Iwan, the scene of the ceremony’s
culmination, the royal banquet (simat)22 (Figure 5.1).

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Nasser Rabbat

Figure 5.1 The Mamluk processional route from the Citadel through Cairo.
Rendering: Nasser Rabbat.

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

Amirial Architecture
The amirs’ religious structures were apparently not permitted to border on al-​Shari‘
al-​’A‘zam. Instead, they occasionally built them on the winding side streets that led off
from it. More often, however, they built their religious complexes and their palaces in
various districts outside the boundaries of Fatimid al-​Qahira. This process seems to have
begun during the reign of al-​Nasir Muhammad, who initiated the greatest expansion of
Cairo in the medieval period.23 Many of his great amirs followed the example of their
master and built their religious endowments in the newly urbanized areas. We have no
indication in the sources of any order of preference governing the choice of various areas
for amirial endowments. But, as the principal processional passage between the city and
the Citadel, al-​Darb al-​Ahmar seems to have attracted a good number of amirs to build
their religious structures there, which in turn helped embellish the street and raise its
urban standing further, although it has never received any royal religious endowment.
Three major buildings, belonging to the first or Bahri Mamluk period (1260–​1382)
and built by high-​ranking amirs of al-​Nasir Muhammad, mark the beginning of the
process of monumentalization of al-​Darb al-​Ahmar. They are, from north to south, the
Madrasa/​Khanqah of Ahmad al-​Mihmandar (1324–​1325), the Mosque of Altunbugha
al-​Maridani (1338) and the Mosque of Aqsunqur (1346), known today as the Blue
Mosque. All three structures seem to have been planted in areas that were still being
developed. Al-​Maqrizi mentions that their sites had belonged to the cemetery and that
bones were uncovered whenever workers dug up the foundations. In the case of the
Madrasa of al-​Mihmandar, he further states that it was built across from the musalla al-​
amwat (funerary prayer hall), suggesting that the cemetery had not been totally removed
by the time al-​Mihmindar began his madrasa, which may thus have been the first Mamluk
religious structure on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar.24
Building activities slowed down after the prosperous reign of al-​Nasir Muhammad
but they never stopped.25 In 1368–​1369, the Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban was
constructed further to the south. It was followed by the Mosque of Aytamish al-​Bagasi
(1383), situated on the southern tip of al-​Darb al-​Ahmar. Then came the elegant com-
plex of Amir Qijmas al-​Ishaqi in 1480, which occupied the northern bifurcation of the
street not very far from Bab Zuwayla. The last major Mamluk complex on al-​Darb
al-​Ahmar was that of Amir Khayer bek, which was built in two stages before and after
the fall of the Mamluk Empire (1502 and 1520). The first construction was a mauso-
leum for Khayer bek (1502), built when he was still a rising amir under Sultan Qansuh
al-​Ghuri. He attached it via a secret doorway to the early Bahri Palace of Alin Aq, which
he had appropriated as his own residence. The second stage comprised a mosque with a
fine minaret and a sabil (public standpipe) erected in 1520 when Khayer bek became the
viceroy of Egypt for the Ottoman Sultan Selim I. Khayer bek was given that high pos-
ition as a reward for his treason of his Mamluk master al-​Ghuri in the decisive battle of
Marj Dabiq (1516), which sealed the fate of the Mamluk Empire and delivered Syria and
Egypt to the Ottomans (Figure 5.2).

Dominating the Urban Space

Mamluk amirial endowments on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar display a great degree of spatial and
visual sensitivity to the street’s contours in their alignment, orientation and massing.
But the early structures show only modest attempts to include the street itself in the

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Nasser Rabbat

Figure 5.2 The Darb al-​Ahmar plan with the Amirial structures.
Rendering: Saeed Arida.

orchestration of their overall visual effects and control of their urban surroundings. The
first securely dated Mamluk structure on the street, the Khanqah/​Madrasa of Ahmad
al-​Mihmandar (1325), which was part of a larger complex that included a qaysariyya and
a rab‘, now lost, treats the street in the most familiar way. It has a long, straight façade
along the street, which was probably possible because the designers decided to ignore the
correct qibla orientation and to, instead, adhere to the street alignment (the qibla direction
is off by about 30 degrees, a tremendous deviation even in a city with several known and

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

sanctioned qibla orientations).26 The one clear urban gesture in this façade is placing the
ribbed funerary dome on the northeastern corner of the building where the street turns
almost 60° so that the dome is the first element of the building that anyone coming down
from Bab Zuwayla would see. Another possible urban gesture is the internal passageway
at the southern end of the façade, which, according to al-​Maqrizi, originally led to the
street behind in the Fatimid Harat al-​Yanissiya.27 This corridor might have functioned as
a transitional space between the street and the complex.28 But with the disappearance of
the rest of the complex’s components, the qaysariyya and the rab‘, as well as musalla al-​
amwat (funerary prayer hall) across the street, and the blocking of the passageway today,
it is impossible to ascertain the intentionality of such a gesture.
The plans of the two other early Bahri Mamluk structures of al-​Maridani and
Aqsunqur –​both congregational mosques of the hypostyle type –​are skewed to more
or less correspond to the correct qibla direction. This shift of course results in irregular
space left over from the divergence between the qibla orientation and the street alignment.
Resolving this problem and maintaining a regular plan are old architectural challenges
that have had various solutions in Cairo. The most common was to add a triangular
wedge on the street side that fills up the leftover space and to insert various small rooms
of diminishing size within the wedge as a means to justify it functionally. This is precisely
how the Mosque of Aqsunqur resolves the problem: an almost isosceles triangle extends
out of the northwestern side of the mosque rectangular plan with the domed mausoleum
of the founder prominently occupying the tip of the triangle facing the street and
protruding slightly into the public space29 (Figure 5.3). The arched main entrance of the
Mosque of Aqsunqur is nestled next to the dome while the minaret occupies the corner

Figure 5.3 Plan of the Mosque of Aqsunqur with the house of Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan.
Rendering: Saeed Arida.

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Nasser Rabbat

Figure 5.4 The house of Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan squeezed between the Mosque of
Aqsunqur and the complex of Khayer Bek.
Photo: Nasser Rabbat.

where the triangle and the rectangle meet. Another entry portal opens on the south-
western oblique side onto a rhomboidal urban pocket as if to greet the passerby coming
from the south on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar. But the house built by Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan
before 1652 and squeezed wedge-​like against the Mosque’s southwestern wall obscures
the extent to which Aqsunqur’s façade interacts with the public space (Figure 5.4). The
end result, however, is a building that parades all of its main elements on its regular
street façade while following its functional requirements by turning behind its façade to
face Mecca.
The Mosque of al-​Maridani engages the street in a totally different manner that will
be further developed into brilliant results in several later religious complexes in Mamluk
Cairo.30 Unsatisfied with only reconciling the two orientations of the street and the qibla
through space fillers, the architect of the mosque actually coopts the street to create an
“urban pocket” next to its main entrance on its northeastern façade.31 This is achieved

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

Figure 5.5 Plan of the Mosque of Al-​Maridani.

Rendering: Saeed Arida.

primarily through a stepped corner whereby the mass of the building recedes to create a
first semi-​public area and the main portal projects out to generate a second area that visu-
ally and spatially forces the passer-​by to take notice of the building.32 To take advantage
of the vistas opened up by the designed encroachment of the building onto the street,
the projecting portal, the minaret rising on its northern jamb and the dome above the
mihrab are gathered on the two sides of the jagged corner, probably as added emphases
(Figure 5.5).
The Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban maintains the use of the two strategies of
stepped corners and tilted plans to address the three expectations of engaging the street,
accommodating the qibla and projecting monumentality (Figure 5.6). But the two later
Burij Mamluk structures on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, the Mosque of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi and the
complex of Khayer Bek, supersede all of their precursors in literally “hugging the street”,
and in the arrangement of their fragmented façades so as to command the view from
different vantage points. Both manage to exploit their advantageous sites to achieve max-
imum visibility that highlights various components of their complexes. Both also appro-
priate sections of the street and nearby buildings through various techniques: engulfing
with architectural components, staggering, projection and draw back, and rotating elem-
ents off axis, in addition to a secret passage in the Dome of Khayer Bek and a bridge in
the Mosque of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi.
Situated on a wedge where al-​Darb al-​Ahmar bifurcates and the street’s main branch
veers south, the Mosque of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi represents a novel street-​oriented architec-
tural configuration. The overall plan of the complex follows the triangular contours
of the wedge by staggering its main components in three incremental planes facing the

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Nasser Rabbat

Figure 5.6 Triptych: approach to the Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban.

Rendering: Meriam Soltan.

Figure 5.7 Triptych: approach to the Madrasa of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi.

Rendering: Saeed Arida.

street to the west: first the façade of the main prayer hall, second the sabil surmounted
by the minaret, and third the main entry portal with the domed mausoleum behind it.
The pockets generated by the staggering provide for transitional public space in front
of the sabil and the entrance portal, exactly where it is most needed. The wall of the
domed mausoleum along al-​Darb al-​Ahmar breaks with this jagged configuration and
resumes the alignment with the street in a conciliatory gesture that seems to release the
passer-​by coming from Bab Zuwayla from the pause caused by the two angled edges
of the building projecting onto the street space. But the most impressive effect of the
staggering is visual: the building gradually unfolds for the viewer coming from the west
in an order that seems to reflect its components’ relative importance in the overall com-
position (Figure 5.7). This is confirmed by the fact that some service elements –​a kuttab
(Qur’anic school), an ablution court and a hawd (basin) –​are grouped together across
the narrow passageway north of the complex so as not to encumber the view. A sabat
(covered bridge) connects them to the northern side of the prayer hall and anchors the
main structure standing on an urban island within the neighborhood’s fabric behind it.33
The last Mamluk amirial religious endowment on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, the relatively
small complex of Khayer Bek, presents the most elaborate engagement with both the
street and the surrounding urban fabric (though the latter is very difficult to study due
to the various layers of building and rebuilding around the complex). That the relation-
ship with the street was well thought-​out and intentional is substantiated by the fact that
the complex was constructed in at least two stages, each of which presents a differently
impressive facet of street architecture that seems to respond directly to the changing
political context. The first stage, a funerary dome built in 1502 when Khayer Bek was
a Mamluk amir, introduces a visually genial step: the dome and its drum are rotated to

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

Figure 5.8 Aerial view of the complex of Khayer Bek and the Mosque of Aqsunqur.
Courtesy of the Aga Khan Services in Egypt.

face the qibla. But by the same token the observer coming from the Citadel is offered a
magnificent perspectival view of two sides of the dome’s base with the minaret (probably
added during the second stage of construction) springing behind the arc of the intricately
stone-​carved dome. The second stage is an oblong mosque/​madrasa constructed later
when Khayer Bek became the amir al-​umara‘ (effectively governor of Egypt) under the
Ottoman Sultan Selim Yavuz and finished before 1521, the date of the waqf ­(endowment)
of the entire complex.34 A sabil/​kuttab block was added shortly thereafter by one of
the mamluks of Khayer Bek (probably after the latter’s death in 1522) to the north of
the mosque, rounding up the composition and framing a substantial transitional space,
akin to a vestibule, in front of the entire complex.35 The Ottoman amir Ibrahim Agha
Mustahfizan appropriated the complex later and inserted a house between it and the
Mosque of Aqsunqur around 1652.36 He may have added some structures behind the
complex, but he does not seem to have modified the street façade (Figure 5.8).
The complex of Khayer Bek has an unusual sequence of construction. Amir
Khayer Bek resided in the old and magnificent palace of Alin Aq when he served in the
court of Sultan Qansuh al-​Ghuri in Cairo. He began the appropriation of the palace
surroundings by building his funerary dome without any religious complex attached.
Instead, he connected the dome to the main qa‘a (hall) of the palace via an elaborate
stepped secret passage, a very unorthodox gesture, which suggests a more pronounced
arrogance on the part of the patron than most other Mamluk amirs. The funerary dome
is correctly oriented toward the qibla, whereas the qibla of the mosque/​madrasa, built
almost 20 years later, deviates from the true direction by about 30 degrees. This diver-
gence is utterly puzzling. It cannot be simply attributed to neglect or to the possibility
that the complex was left incomplete.37 The probable explanation should be sought in the
fact that Cairene mosques followed at least four different qibla orientations,38 and that a
major shift in polity (and in the hierarchy of the schools of jurisprudence) occurred in

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Nasser Rabbat

Figure 5.9 Triptych: approach to the complex of Khayer Bek.

Rendering: Saeed Arida.

Egypt between the two constructions. But if the eastern outside walls of the mosque and
the funerary domes do not follow the same alignment, the western ones are aligned and
follow the street line. This is achieved by varying the thickness of the street-​facing walls
of the mosque and especially the mausoleum, whose northwestern façade is more than 5
meters thick where it meets the mosque. The morphology of this area is unclear though
as it must have been greatly modified when the mosque was constructed and connected
to the funerary dome. Another subtle gesture is achieved by pushing the sabil/​kuttab unit
onto the street a bit further than the funerary dome so that parts of its façade are seen
behind the dome’s wall as the viewer approaches the complex from the south. But further
speculation about the aim of this configuration is hampered by the fact that we do not
know whether the sabil/​kuttab was planned originally as an integral part of the complex
or was an after-​thought added by a loyal mamluk (Figure 5.9).
The Mamluk structures on al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, especially the complexes of Qijmas
al-​Ishaqi and Khayer Bek, raise the challenging question about the limitations of dif-
ferential façade treatments that depend on the direction of approach. But with the
apparently puzzling exception of the Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban and the under-
standable one of the complex of Khayer Bek, all other Mamluk structures on al-​Darb
al-​Ahmar primarily address the viewer coming from one direction: from Bab Zuwayla
to the Citadel. This of course was the principal trajectory of the royal procession during
the Mamluk period; the opposite direction is never mentioned in the sources as the route
of a procession.39 Drawing the attention and manipulating the view of people in the pro-
cession was thus a primary concern of the designers of these intricate Mamluk façades.
Even the treatment of the façade of the Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban may be
explained from this angle: its main portal, minaret and larger funerary dome are what
first greet the viewer coming from Bab Zuwayla. The projecting mass of Bayt al-​Razzaz
(built between the late 15th century and 1778), which blocks part of the view of the
Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban’s façade, is a later addition. More importantly, the
second floor qa‘a overlooking the street, which is the true perspectival obstruction, is
an Ottoman addition, built well after the approach from Bab Zuwayla had lost its cere-
monial and political significance.40
Similarly, the apparent divergence of the complex of Khayer Bek from the dominant
ceremonial orientation can be explained by examining the sequence of building on that
site. The first unit that Khayer Bek built was the unusually skewered funerary dome. It
is perhaps difficult to imagine it today, but the view from the northern approach must
have been as impressive as the view from the southern approach is today, before the con-
struction of the mosque and especially the sabil-​kuttab, which blocked some of that view

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Coopting the Street: The Urban Character of Mamluk Architecture

on the street level. In fact, the view from the northern approach might have been more
impressive initially as it offered a seemingly standalone dome, whose connection to the
Palace of Alin Aq behind it was hidden from view. It is probable also that the original
entrance to the dome was on that north-​facing side before it was modified into a deeply
recessed window with the construction of the abutting mosque around 1520. Moreover,
the whole idea of directionality may have lost its primacy in the interim between the two
phases of construction as Cairo lost its role as an imperial capital and became a provin-
cial capital ruled by a turncoat, Khayer Bek, who was more than eager to prove his loy-
alty to the new regime and careful not to assert any symbol of supreme and independent
sovereignty. But this observation will have to remain only hypothetical due to the lack of
sufficient supporting evidence.41
The practice of endowing flamboyant amirial religious buildings along al-​ Darb
al-​Ahmar came to an abrupt end after the complex of Khayer Bek. After the Ottoman con-
quest of 1517, Cairo was reduced to a provincial capital whose governors were appointed
from Istanbul for very short terms. Subordinate status is not conducive to either pompous
processions or grand architectural gestures. Nor did al-​Darb al-​Ahmar preserve its role
as a processional route, even on the modest scale of a regional seat of government. The
Ottoman Pashas took to coming to Cairo by boat via the Nile and to leading a proces-
sion of entry from Bulaq to the Citadel along the outskirts of the city, totally bypassing
al-​Darb al-​Ahmar. The one procession that remained from the olden days, the Mahmal
Procession (Litter Procession), which marked the opening of the pilgrimage season to
Mecca, could not sustain the ceremonial aspect of the street on its own. Slowly, al-​Darb
al-​Ahmar retreated to the status of a principal commercial and residential avenue living in
the shadow of the Citadel, whose inhabitants constituted its main customers.
Al-​Darb al-​Ahmar, like most major streets in pre-​modern Cairo, was thus an ingenious
Mamluk creation. Its overall orientation was dictated by the need to link the Citadel,
which became the center of a true imperial court, to the economic center of the city,
which occupied the former walled Fatimid city. Its plan was gradually adjusted to fit the
refinements and trajectory of Mamluk royal processions, which involved multiple stops
along the ceremonial route. Mamluk amirs built all the religious and most of the secular
monuments along the street’s sides. They competed with each other to command the best
location that provided the highest visibility to their buildings and the most compelling
reasons for the leader of the procession, the sultan, to stop in front of them or to visit
them. Like al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam and its extensions and the al-​Saliba al-​Kubra, al-​Darb al-​
Ahmar was transformed into a venue of exhibition where Mamluk amirs displayed their
elaborate spatial and visual spectacle. Not only the buildings’ forms and functions, but
also their artful manipulation of the street were designed to enhance their overall archi-
tectural impact. All were mobilized in the service of an expressive ceremonial pomp that
reflected and represented the strictly hierarchical Mamluk system of rule and the peculiar
relationship this caste of outsiders maintained with their city.42

Notes
1 C.J.R. Haswell 1922.
2 T. Al-​Maqrizi 1934–​1972, 2: 542; Ibn Taghri-​Birdi 1930–​1956, 9: 185.
3 Ibrahim and Rogers 1974; D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1995, 293–​295.
4 For an analysis of the growth of Cairo under the Ayyubids and early Mamluks see N. Rabbat
1995, 50–​89 and 229–​243; Williams 1984; M. Meinecke-​Berg 1977. On the long-​term effect of
Mamluk urbanism see J.C. Garcin 2000.

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5 On the function of processions in traditional societies, see Cannadine and Price 1987. On the
Fatimid rituals in Cairo see Sanders 1994, 39–​82.
6 K. Stowasser 1984.
7 D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1988.
8 D. Ayalon 1961; S. al-​Sarraf 1996; N. Rabbat 1995, 104–​106, 194–​199.
9 M. ‘Abd al-​Fattah 1990; N. Rabbat 1995, 238–​240.
10 S. Humphreys 1972; O. Grabar 1984; B. O’Kane 1996; H. al-​Harithy 2000; N. Rabbat 2002;
J. Loiseau 2010, 1: 35–​66, 287–​330.
11 H. Al-​Harithy 2001, 84, eloquently calls these spaces “urban pockets”.
12 J.C. Garcin 1984.
13 D. Ghaly 2004, 153–​187.
14 On the evolution of Bayn al-​Qasrayn from the Fatimid to the Mamluk period see N. AlSayyad
1981; N. AlSayyad 1994, 71–​ 82. For a computer reconstruction of that evolution see
N. AlSayyad 1999, 93–​100.
15 On the history of this major thoroughfare see S. el-Rashidi, 2004, 55–​65.
16 N. Rabbat 1995, 67–​69, 237–​239.
17 J. Abu-​Lughod 1971, 27–​36.
18 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 3: 46–​48.
19 Ibid., 3: 367, 451–​452.
20 On Alin Aq al-​Husami, Al-Maqrizi, 2002–​2004, 3: 375; T. Al-​Maqrizi 1934–​72, 1, 3: 795. For
a description of the palace see J. Revault 1982, 49–​74, 180–​187 and Figs. 12 and 13; N. Rabbat
1995, 214–​19.
21 N. Rabbat 1995, 3–​28.
22 K. Stowasser 1984, 16–​19. For a description of a mawkib’s route for Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad
in 1303 see T. Al-​Maqrizi 1934–​1972, 1, 3: 939–​940; B. Shoshan 1993, 74–​75.
23 A. Raymond 2000, 111–​189; M. Meinecke-​Berg 1977, 539–​550; N. Rabbat 1995, 235–​243.
24 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4, 1: 227; 4, 1: 239.
25 D. Ayalon 1968; Ayalon 1994; Levanoni 1995, 156–​168, attributes the economic decline after
al-​Nasir Muhammad to his excesses. Denizeau and Denoix, 2012, offer a novel approach to the
study of al-​Nasir’s urban plan.
26 C. Kessler 1984; Kessler 2000; Bonine 1990, 50–​51.
27 T. Al-​Maqrizi 2002–​2004, 4, 2: 612.
28 H. Al-​Harithy 2001, 85–​87, and Figs. 6, 13, 14.
29 M. Meinecke 1973, 9–​38.
30 C. Kessler 1984, 97–​108; idem 1972, 257–​67.
31 H. Al-​Harithy 2001, 84–​85, and Fig. 17.
32 W. Benjamin 1969, 217–​51, 240, notes that “architecture has always represented the proto-
type of a work of art the reception of which is consummated by a collectivity in a state of
distraction”.
33 N. Warner 2005, 106 and references.
34 M. ‘Abd al-​Fattah 1988, 82–​87, for the waqf of Amir Khayer Bak, dated 8 Muharram, 927/​1521.
35 D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1994, 232–​235.
36 M. ‘Abd al-​Fattah 1988, 86–​87. See also Behrens-​Abouseif 1994, 171.
37 C.Kessler 1972, 265–​267, notes that the deviation from the correct qibla is usually observed in
funerary domes, which are added later to religious complexes, not the reverse.
38 D.A. King 1984, 114–​119.
39 M. ‘Abd al-​Fattah 1990.
40 On Bayt al-​Razzaz, see Maury 1983, 120–​132.
41 D. Behrens-​Abouseif 1994, 160 notes that Khayer Bek specifies in his waqf that his Madrasa
should not function as a Friday Mosque, thus no khutba (Friday sermon), possibly as a way
to avoid having the name of the Ottoman Sultan mentioned in his complex, the first to be
completed after the Ottoman conquest.
42 W. Clifford 2013, 154–​205, offers a critical analysis of the Mamluk system as it took shape
under al-​Nasir Muhammad. See also J. Loiseau 2014, 25–​88; N. Rabbat 2020, 116–​21.

All images by the author. Renderings were produced by Saeed Arida and Meriam Soltan under the
author’s direction.

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6
1340 YEARS OF CAIRO’S
MEDIEVAL NECROPOLIS
Galila El Kadi

From the earliest of antiquity, the necropolises or Cities of the Dead were established near
the cities of the living, and were afforded the same amount of effort in their design and
construction. From the pyramid to the mausoleum, the hypogea and catacombs, whether
having a mound or stelae, funerary architecture draws inspiration from the realm of the
living.1 The uniqueness of these places and the diversity of their characteristics extended
the urban and rural fabric, forming a network of places and objects containing allegories
and symbols, signs and landmarks to generate specific cultural experiences.2 Among all
societies of antiquity none offers the diversity of, and interest in, the funeral refinement
of the ancient Egyptians. For these people the cult of the dead takes on such import-
ance that their concepts of funerary traditions continued for more than 33 centuries,
and represent the most recognizable element of art and architectural expression. All that
is left from this great civilization are its temples and tombs. Most Egyptian funerary
rituals and practices up until modern days have been greatly influenced by pagan and
ancient beliefs and customs. Evidence of this can be seen in the enormous and dispropor-
tionate scale of Cairo’s medieval necropolis, referred to as Qarafa.3 The regularity of its
urban layout, the funerary complexes, the size and variety of its tombs are all designed
as idealized replicas of houses of the living. The City of the Dead in Cairo includes two
main important funerary clusters, the Southern Necropolis, located south of the citadel,
and the Eastern Necropolis, known as Saharaa al mamlik (the Mamlouk Desert), to the
east of the Citadel and the small Bab al-​Nasr cemetery. All together, these necropolises
occupy 1,000 hectares and stretch for 12 kilometres from north to south (Figures 6.1, 6.2,
and 6.3). Considering the history and influence of such a strong funerary culture, we may
legitimately consider this City of the Dead to be the modern Egyptian equivalent of the
Theban Necropolis.
Since its foundation in 642 by the Arab conquerors near Fustat, the two cities of the
living and the dead have grown in parallel and have often interacted with one another.
Every new dynasty created and added a new funerary space to the original nucleus,
endowing them by outstanding religious complexes. After successive generations of
destruction and looting those that have survived are now listed as monuments on the
national record. Described as a wonder of the world by the traveler Ibn Jubair in 1271,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-7 83
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Galila El Kadi

Figure 6.1 The geographical location of the City of the Dead. Google Earth image 2012.

the Qarafa has been a source of fascination and wonder to many visitors and travelers
throughout the ages. During its 1340 years of existence, it has cumulated many types
of value; historical, spiritual and emotional, symbolic, social and economic. Today it
is confronted by major challenges that threaten its main function as a cemetery and its
exceptional values as heritage. The most immediate threat is the cohabitation between
the dead and the living, which traditionally constituted one of its main social features
throughout the centuries. But this issue has had a varied history according to sociocul-
tural and political realities of the time. Starting in the late 19th century, the pressure
of Cairo’s urban expansion was intensified during the 20th century and the resulting
housing shortage led to an increased amount of homelessness, with the poorest flowing
into the necropolis zones. A minority of the population has occupied the vast family
tombs (hawch), while a great majority has been accommodated in settlements developed
on vacant lands illegally appropriated by private investors around the main monuments.
The state boosted this phenomenon by implementing public housing estates and pro-
viding basic infrastructure and services to its residents. This has helped the urban
enclaves to evolve organically into real urban districts that threatened the funerary
fabric from the inside.
Other threatening forces come from outside these districts, with the expansion of
Cairo’s modern infrastructure network, which is eating gradually at its borders and
brutally penetrating into its urban fabric. The area has become a magnet for informal

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1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis

Figure 6.2 The eastern necropolis general view. Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

building activities that have developed around and within these spaces. The spectacle
that remains of the old wonder of the world is an inconsistent patchwork of tenements,
tombs and tombs made into apartment buildings with the addition of an upper storey
or other commercial activities. The permissiveness of the authorities leading to the neg-
lect of these funerary monuments dating back through each era since the Arab conquest,
including many newer tombs of genuine aesthetic and symbolic values, is absolutely dev-
astating. The global absence of the perception of this historic legacy as a heritage to
be safeguarded will leave them in a state of ruin and decay and in danger of vanishing
without trace. The only answer from the authorities in light of this tragic situation is the
demolition and the transfer of the cemetery, which has become one of the options of
Cairo’s 2050 strategic plan. All of this activity denies the exceptional characteristics of
the City of the Dead as a UNESCO World Heritage Site of Historic Cairo and its pos-
ition as a major feature of the city’s urban landscape. We will discuss this issue at the end
of this chapter.

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Figure 6.3 The southern necropolis. Imam al Shafe’i street, Jahin King Pacha mausoleum, 1897.
Photo by Galila El Kadi.

The first part of this article will deal with the area’s history, outlining the successive
phases of its geographical expansion from its foundation to the end of the Ottoman period.
The uniqueness of its cultural value and social role within the region during the apogee
of its magnificence will be illustrated, along with the area’s decline and eventual decay.
The second part will focus on the risks faced by this necropolis that continue to threaten
its existence. The third part emphasizes the urban, architectural, and heritage values that
rank it as a UNESCO World Heritage Site within Historic Cairo. In conclusion, this article
will draw on the necessary strategies needed to rethink the relationships between the
two cities: the dead and the living; between the standing houses and the resting places.

The History, Foundation and Evolution

The plains at the foot of the Muqattam Hills were once, as Josaphat considered, hallowed
ground. Bodies that were buried there stayed better preserved for much longer and the
dead were believed to rise from the grave every Wednesday, Thursday and Holy Friday.4,5
The sight of human bodies so well preserved must have made quite an impression on the
Muslim Arabs arriving with their newfound belief in resurrection and the reconstitution
of the physical body after “judgment”. Naturally, when they established their first settle-
ment of Fustat, they chose to locate their cemeteries in the desert just beyond its eastern
fringes.6 And so began the history of the Qarafa. The geography of this vast expanse of
desert provided ample space for the establishment of a scattering of funerary cities. This
first Muslim cemetery in Egypt seems to have developed as a mirror image of the first

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Arab settlement at Fustat. Kubiak describes how tribes with a khitta (allotted plot of
land) in the town built their own funerary districts, with a mosque surrounded by tombs,
in the neighbouring desert to the east.7 We are told that in 740 the city comprised 20
khittat covering an area of 800 ha, with its 300 ha cemetery having no clear boundaries
except for the wall on the west side separating it from the city.
In 750, the ʿAbbasids (750–​1218) took control of the nascent Islamic empire from the
Umayyads (661–​750), and the center of power shifted northeast from Fustat to the new
administrative district of al-​ʿAskar. By 870, this district expanded further northeast to
al-​Qata’iʿ (the concessions), an urban settlement built by the ʿAbbasid governor Ahmad
ibn Tulun to serve as the capital city of his newly founded Tulunid Dynasty. A new ceme-
tery appeared beyond the southern fringes of al-​Qata’iʿ to service the new settlement
and it most likely became the final resting place for Ibn Tulun.8 . It would go on to
be the eternal resting place of the Prophet’s descendants who emigrated from Arabia.9
According to al-​Maqrizi, prior to the arrival of the Fatimids, the Qarafa covered a vast
area,10 but we have very little information as to what the tombs actually looked like. Only
the mausolea of certain saints and religious dignitaries were likely to have been crowned
with a dome.11 The religious laws prohibiting posthumous ostentation seem to have been
strictly observed.
The Fatimids reigned over Egypt for two centuries (969–​1171) and founded a new
capital north of Fustat called al-​Qahira, which gradually evolved from a royal city
into a bona fide metropolis. The caliphs, reviving the ancient regional traditions, built
themselves lavish posthumous abodes in a variety of locations. Initially these were built
within the actual graveyard, the Qarafa, but were later situated outside, along the road
from Cairo to Fustat to form what we now call Sayyida Nafisa cemetery. The presence
of ʿAlid graves in the area promoted it as a pilgrimage site, and led to the construction
of three shrines to house the remains of the Prophet and the first two ʿAlid caliphs.12
A handful of ʿAlid mausolea still exist today.13 Another cemetery was established beyond
the northern walls of the new city, and later took its name from the nearby Bab al-​Nasr
gate. The sheer cliff face of the Muqattam Hills was seen as a “romantic arena” that
seduced the Fatimid Caliph al-​Hakim and other princes into having their tombs built
there.14 Badr al-​Jamali, commander of the Fatimid armies, placed his mosque on a spur
overlooking the plains.15
Located in the center of the Fatimid city, at one of the gates south of the grand palace
and now on the site occupied by the Khan al-​Khalili, was a cemetery (Turbat al-​Zaʿfaran)
with a mosque-​mausoleum that the Fatimid caliphs took as their final resting place.16
It was destroyed with a vengeance when the Ayyubids came to power.17. Not far from
this spot, along the inside of the western wall, was another small cemetery known as al-​
Gurayeb, which survived until the mid-​twentieth century. Relatively little is known about
these two centuries of Fatimid rule beyond a few descriptions provided by historians.
They reported that the caliphs built themselves palatial residences, qusur (palaces)
and gawasseks,18 in the Qarafa and sojourned there during their lifetime. They added
mosques for teaching the Koran and pious foundations (ribats)19 to provide assistance
to the needy. The site must have been serviced by bored wells and repairing the Tulunid
era aqueducts.20 The few remaining mausolea of this kind are relatively insignificant in
the light of the descriptions given, but we can see vestiges of the resurgence of ancient
relationships between the living and the cemeteries, which have continued through to the
present day such as:

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1. The popular traditions of visiting the graves of family members and ancestors for
holidays and vacations. Amin describes the Qarafa as a “cemetery where people
gather, especially on a Friday morning, to hear the usually blind fiqui reciting the
Qur’an, and to give bread and fruit as alms for a dead person’s soul. It used to be cus-
tomary to camp there overnight, far from the town. This led to “immoral acts and an
official ban”.21 Where the Egyptians differ from other contemporary Muslim societies
is in their regular, frequent visits to the cemetery, in the length of time they spend
there with their dead, and in the intermingling of men and women during the visit22
(Figure 6.4).
2. The emergence of various kinds of permanent housing for various social groups in the
urban clusters that developed around the qasr-​mosque-​ribat foundations.

These clusters included people who spent almost all of their time in the areas because it
was their job to build, restore and maintain the tombs: carers, morticians, the keepers of
rich families’ tombs, as well as widows, divorcees, children staying at the orphanages and
students taking classes at the mosques, all of whom lived in the Qarafa out of necessity.
The last century of Fatimid rule had been punctuated by political unrest and a series
of disasters23 that culminated in the famous fire of Fustat.24 Fustat was in ruins and was
split into two after being deserted by its population.25 Its ruined sector seems to have
formed part of the cemetery at the time. Although the two cities of the dead and the
living deteriorated toward the end of Fatimid rule, they later recovered their splendor
under the Ayyubids. Among the activities carried out were the repairs to the mosque

Figure 6.4 Women visiting the cemetery, Bab al Nasr Cemetery. Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

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and dome of Sidi ʿUqba, a companion of the Prophet who died in Egypt in 677,26 and,
more importantly, the construction of an imposing mausoleum over the tomb of Imam
al-​Shafiʿi.27 This mausoleum was the first ever to include a madrasa (religious school), a
khanqah (Sufi monastery) and a zawiya (cultural shrine), of which only the mausoleum
remains. The Ayyubid princes, in the hope of enjoying the blessings of the Imam, had
what were by all accounts lavish tombs built in the vicinity.28 The dome crowning the
mausoleum of Imam al-​Shafiʿi was built in 1221 by al-​Malik al-​Kamil (1218–​1238), and
repairs were carried out on the ibn Tulun aqueduct to supply it with drinking water.29
On a visit to Cairo in 1217, the traveler Ibn Jubayr spent the night in the Qarafa and
described it as “one of the wonders of the world, peopled with the tombs of prophets
and those of their companions at arms, of Sufis and of walis […] a succession of gardens
with a scattering of strange-​ looking buildings”.30 Another traveler, Ibn Sa‘id al-​
Maghribi, after a number of nights in the Qarafa wrote that it contained “many houses
belonging to the worthies of Fustat and al-​Qahira, together with tombs surmounted
by some quite well-​kept edifices. Most striking of all, though, is the magnificent dome
of the tomb of Imam al-​Shafiʿi ...”.31 During this era, the number of places devoted to
ceremony, prayer and learning continued to grow32 and the first housing estates began to
appear in the areas around schools.33. Most significant is the official establishment of the
pilgrimage route for the seven tombs by the Ayyubid Malik al-​Kamil in 1237, encouraged
by the sovereign’s spiritual guide Fakhr al-​Farsi. Next came a pilgrim’s representative
(naqib), religious leaders in charge of visits (sheikhs al-​ziyara) and a chief of police (sahib
al-​shurta) for the Qarafa. A list was drawn up of seven shrines, including the tombs of
revered ʿAlid martyrs (Shiʿite followers of ʿAli), Sufi mystics and holy men. The starting
point of the route was set at the tomb of Sayyida Nafisa, where Shafi‘i went on a posthu-
mous pilgrimage.
Al-​Salih Ayyub (1240–​1249) was the last of the Ayyubid sultans, and it was he who
established the Mamluks in Egypt.34 Many members of the new ruling dynasty wanted to
be buried in this area and had mosques built for this purpose. As a result, every Mamluk
mosque was in fact a mosque-​mausoleum. By around 1290 they established a new burial
site to the east, on vacant land formerly used for horse racing and archery.35. During
the first few decades of the new regime, only two sultans had their tombs built in the
Qarafa, within al-​Maragha district, not far from the Fatimid mausolea.36 As for the char-
itable foundations, historians mention only the zawiya of al-​ʿAdawiyya, also known as
the zawiya of al-​Qadiriyya, built in 1299 in honor of a saint named Shaykh Zayn al-​Din
Yusuf.37 This cluster attracted many pilgrims and, in time, a population of permanent
residents, which led to the forming of the medieval urban community that still exists
today around al-​Qadiriyya Mosque near Bab al-​Qarafa gate.
The reign of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad Ibn Qalawun (1293–​1340) was a time of
construction and expansion for Cairo. Large funerary complexes filled the empty spaces
between the shrine of Imam al-​Shafiʿi and Bab al-​Qarafa38 covering some 1,500 ha of
land. Al-​Qalqashandi provides a first-​hand account of its renewed splendor: “It has
monumental buildings, magnificent palaces that are enchanting to the eye and that fill
the soul with joy. It is a great city in terms of its jamiʿs, zawiyas, ribats and khanqahs,
but not many people live there.”39 This period seems to have been the heyday of the
Qarafa, when it was at its zenith in terms of size and magnificence. The late fifteenth cen-
tury saw the appearance of a proliferation of mosque-​mausolea in the area between Bab
Zuwayla gate and the Citadel. It is after this point that a new cemetery was established
east of the city by the Circassian Mamluks. And by the end of the sixteenth century,

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after a hundred years of lavish building work, this new necropolis supplanted the old
Qarafa. The madrasas, khanqahs and other religious institutions attached to the mosque-​
mausolea attracted permanent residents, students, the poor, orphans and widows, who
benefitted from the generosity of the Mamluk sovereigns40 and the waqf charity system,41
all of which resulted in the cemeteries becoming a magnet to the urban poor.42
By the end of this period, the population limit of Cairo’s huge City of the Dead had
reached its peak.43 It had become a place offering shelter for the needy, accommodation
for Sufis and religious education; a place of relaxation and leisure for sultans and city
worthies,44 yet also of exile for disgraced rulers;45 an obligatory prayer station for pilgrims
on the road to Mecca, leading to the emergence of a number of caravansaries; and
somewhere the residents of Cairo enjoyed going for walks, attending singing and dan-
cing events, particularly on full-​moon nights and feast days, when they would organize
banquets for their families and friends. In 1459, permanent dwellings in the Qarafa were
banned by an official decree after a good share of its resident population had died of the
plague..46
Geographically, the growth of the City of the Dead ended with the Ottoman con-
quest. For the two and a half centuries of their occupation, the Qarafa ceased to attract
any tombs as lavish as those built there in earlier periods. The governors (walis or
pashas) were in so much trouble financially that most ended their term in jail or under
house arrest.47. Only 27 of the 110 successive pashas leading the government of Egypt
between 1517 and 1798 left any trace of their precarious time in power in the capital
such as a mosque, mausoleum, or sabil,48 and only six such edifices are to be found in
the Qarafa.49 In the meantime, the Mamluks were still governing the provinces and as
such were sharing power with the pashas and still acting as architectural patrons.50 Only
three of the 58 edifices built in Cairo in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries are to be
found in the Qarafa.51
In the seventeenth century, the Qarafa was again considered by many foreign travelers
to be the fourth town of Cairo after Fustat, Fatimid Cairo and Bulaq. Georges Sandys
describes it in 1611 as “the great city of Caraffar, facing south, and stretching several
miles in the direction of the Red Sea”.52 Another contemporary writer, the Dutchman Jan
Sommer, noted that the Qarafa was shrinking.53 In 1798, the French Expedition ended the
Ottoman occupation and for reasons of hygiene, the practice of burying the dead inside
the city was forbidden.54 However, the members of the Expedition expressed their admir-
ation for what they called “la ville des tombeaux” (The City of Graveyards). One of the
Expedition members by the name of Jomard assessed the southern and eastern necrop-
olis in this quarter of the Egyptian capital.55 Six plates in the Description de l’Egypte show
the opulence and diversity of the tombs (Figure 6.5).

The Downward Spiral of the City of the Dead

From the initial impetus of Muhammad ‘Ali (1805–​1848) to the achievements of Isma‘il
(1863–​1879), the nineteenth century saw Cairo striving to “modernize” itself and to
rationalize its urban development. Consequently, the authorities tried to confine the
functions of the Qarafa strictly to burials and death-​related religious practices. At the
same time, economic measures such as property taxes on family waqfs led to further cuts
in the already limited number of tomb keepers.56 Furthermore, modernization of the edu-
cation system took teaching out of the hands of the mosques and madrasas. Muhammad
‘Ali built himself a magnificent mausoleum flanked by five domes not far from the tomb

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1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis

Figure 6.5 Description de l’Egypte, Etat Moderne; Cairo, vol. 1; pl. 65 and 66.

of Imam al-​Shafi‘i, and it so much impressed Fromentin for him to liken it to the Chapelle
Saint-​Denis.57
Khedive Tawfiq (1879–​1892) endowed the Eastern Necropolis with another royal
shrine that covers 2,500 m2. Designed in 1894 by the architect Fabricius Bey, the com-
plex contains a variety of different kinds of tombs, ranging from the simple marble
gravestones of the princesses carefully laid out around the park, to a Mamluk-​style
domed mosque-​mausoleum housing the graves of the khedives Tawfiq and ʿAbbas
Helmi (1892–​1914), together with those of Halmi’s son, ʿAbd al-​Munʿim, and mother,

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Bamba Qadin.58 The royal court and the bourgeoisie, having had the means to follow
their sovereign’s example, left us the sumptuous funerary abodes that we can still con-
template today. These vast funerary compounds are composed of several buildings with
conveniences (kitchens and washrooms) built throughout the Qarafa by the ruling family
suzerains, the aristocracy and the bourgeoisie, and had once again provided permanent
housing for the keepers. As the Cairene housing crisis worsened, they were joined by
other social groups.
The urban crisis was felt in Cairo by the end of the nineteenth century, due to rural
migration and the subsequent housing shortage. The extensive modernization of the cap-
ital and its failing infrastructure since the Isma‘ili era resulted in a significant number of
buildings in the heart of the medieval old town being demolished,59 forcing residents to
evacuate their homes. Some took refuge in empty public and religious buildings, while
others headed for the outskirts and the cemeteries.60 The government assisted this move
by constructing public estates in 189761 (al-​Kharta al-​Qadima) next to the Al Quadreya
medieval district in the northern summit of the Southern Necropolis. The 1897 census
estimated the overall population of the shiyakhat, including the cemeteries, at 30,969.62
The overflow of the homeless and urban poor excluded from the modern city to the
City of the Dead has continued exponentially since that time, progressively legitimatized
and enhanced by the authorities who have undertaken direct interventions in the area
over the decades, including the implementation of public housing estates that occurred
again during the Nasser era, the provision of basic infrastructure such as transporta-
tion,63 water supply, electricity and sewage pipes, and the installation of social and edu-
cational services within the large family hawches seized from the aristocracy.64 The most
striking among these direct interventions is the modernization of the road system, which
never ceases to overturn the physical and cultural landscape of this galloping metropolis,
leading to the creation of an impressive network of expressways, highways and bridges.
Major works running from Salah Salem Highway (1952) to Al-​Tunsi Bridge (2020)
passing by Tariq Al-​Nasr (1983) have encircled, crossed and dismembered the City of
the Dead, contributing to its geographical separation from the neighboring districts and
curbing its growth for good. But at the same time it has acted as a powerful factor for
integration, opening the Qarafa up to the outside world and facilitating its accessibility.
There are now more than 15 bus routes and a terminus actually located within the com-
munity. In parallel, the nazir of the waqf had first effectively tolerated the speculative
activities of morticians and tomb keepers, who set themselves up as cemetery real-​estate
dealers at the end of the nineteenth century.
From 1907, these people illegally appropriated vacant plots of land and created five
urban enclaves around the most prestigious funerary monuments of the two necropolises.
They have evolved into real city districts with their own schools, police stations, markets,
shops, artisans and so on among the neighboring tombs.65 The unauthorised construc-
tion of housing to meet the demands of a growing population is eating into a previ-
ously laid-​out and somewhat disorderly mass of simple shapes, destroying the unique
features that constitute its poetic charm. Parallels may of course be drawn between past
and present patterns of cemetery dwellings, such as tomb keepers’ lodgings, for instance.
However, comparing the temporary sojourns of princes and worthies in the palaces of the
Qarafa to the permanent settlement of Sudanese and Takrurian communities, regarded
as inferior ethnic groups who were excluded from the city of the living, amounts to a
gross over-​generalization.66

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1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis

While the close relationship that Egyptian people, especially Cairenes, have
maintained with the City of the Dead is unquestionably rooted in ancient history, there
is no escaping the fact that contemporary changes in customs and practices have had
an effect on the long-​held traditions. The adoption of functional and hygienic urban
planning principles has stripped full-​time cohabitation, even for tomb keepers, of its
legitimacy. Staying in the cemetery after sundown was banned by Law no. 5 in 1966.
And if the local authorities have been incapable of enforcing that law, it is because of
their failure to offer the homeless any other alternatives. Between 1898 and 1986 the
population of the cemeteries’ permanent dwellers rose from 30,969 to 130,000, most of
them having left the residential districts. The real inhabitants of the necropolis (13,000
in 1986)67 were those who lived within the hawch, and who could be compared to other
city shanty-​towns. The situation worsened due to the security void during the January
2011 revolution and the following years, when real-​estate speculators laid hands on these
areas. These speculators in particular heavily disfigured Historic Cairo and its millenary
necropolis.

Architecture and Heritage Values

In spite of all the aspects of degradation, these Cairo Necropolises still retain a great deal
of value:

Historically, as the first Muslim cemetery in Egypt and one of the oldest in the Muslim
world, a mythic place full of memories that provide connection with the past and
ensure continuity;
Spiritually, emotionally and symbolically, as they contain the bodies of beloved relatives
and the relics of Egyptian ancestors, relatives and famous figures including: the first
prophet Mohammad Sahabis such as Sidi ʿOkba along with members of his family
including Nafissa, ʿAtika and ʿAicha; numerous sheikhs and saints of different ranks
including Imam al-​Shafiʿi, Al-​Leithy and Tunsi that have become sites of pilgrimage;
the four greatest Sufi mystics ʿOmar Ibn El Farid (Sultan Al Ushac), Dhu-​I-​Nun
al-​Masri, al-​Dusuqi and Ibn ‘Ata Allah; royal figures including sultans, princes and
princesses and the members of their courts; prominent army generals like Badr Al
Gamali; great historical figures such as Ibn Khaldoun, a historian and pioneer of soci-
ology in the fourteenth century who is buried in Bab El Nasr; the Egyptian chronicler
Al-​Maqrizi; a wealth of modern Egyptian rulers, prime ministers, ministers and
notables; and the remains of the pilgrimage route to Mekka, now known as Sultan
Ahmad Street.
Socially, as a place of family gatherings during visits to hear the usually blind fiqui reciting
the Qur’an, and to give bread and fruit as alms for a dead person’s soul; and a place
of feasting during countless mulids celebrating the birthdays of holy men and women
buried in the cemeteries68 that attracted people from across the land who camp among
the tombs to partake in religious songs and dances or zikr. One finds merchants selling
food, candy and children’s toys, and even carousels and swings turning the cemeteries
into something of a “fairground”; and finally as a home for the homeless.
Economically, as a heritage site visited by tourists that, in turn, generates income.
Aesthetically and culturally, as its outstanding architecture and the exceptional features
of its landscape have been immortalized by the famous orientalist painters including

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Figure 6.6 Wooden Tomb, Bab al Nasr Cemetery. Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

Prisse d’Avennes, David Roberts and Pascale Cost. These places need to be explored
on foot in order to appreciate their rich architectural and spatial diversity. One can
legitimately talk about them in terms of cities and urban planning without fear of
straying into the metaphorical. The surface areas of the tomb plots range from a few, a
few dozen, to several hundred square meters. The “fabric” features of regular, orthog-
onal grids are the product of a conscious attempt at organized and cost-​effective land
use, while the loosest and most complex patchwork of plots are the result of chance
and customized practices and are two extremes that can co-​exist in separate and dis-
tinct areas.

All manner of spatial variations are in play as these tomb plots mix or merge together.
Clearly the compositions of the plots are bound to differ depending on whether one is
working with two, 20 or 200 square meters; therefore, the range of plot sizes engendered
a wealth of architectural diversity. This variety can be seen from simple stone parallel-
epiped burials adorned with a stela at either end, lavishly decorated marble cenotaphs,
through to marvelous cabin-​like structures adorned in fine wooden “lacework”. There
are elegant open kiosks covered by a semi-​circular or pyramidal cupola (Figure 6.6),
villas with several outbuildings, and great domed mosque-​ mausolea, truly proud
monuments standing imposingly in vast green gardens. These larger family tombs usu-
ally have one storey, but sometimes two, and all have a hawch (an internal court) or

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1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis

Figure 6.7 An internal garden, Tomb of Dawlatlu Mustapha Ryad Pacha, 1887, Imam al Shafei.
Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

more. Some possess balconies with shutters and a roof, or a combination of loggias
with an internal court and garden (Figures 6.7, 6.8 and 6.9). A number of these are
designed by famous architects like Hassan Fathi, Mostafa Pacha Fahmy or the Italian
Verruchi.
This rich and diverse architecture has sadly given way to the visually poorer and
repetitive row of “houses” that are now widespread in the cemeteries constructed by the
State in the new desert cities. Combining red bricks and stone, with regular courtyards
measured to a maximum of 60 meters squared, they lack imagination and the fantasy of
past generations.
The funerary monuments dating back to each successive era dominate the
surroundings with their imposing size as they shape the skyline. Seventy-​eight of these
are considered to be historical monuments, representing 15% of the Islamic and Coptic
monuments listed on the national monuments register. They represent various architec-
tural and functional typologies that have evolved from the primitive mausoleum.
The most simple and primitive belong to the Fatimid and Ayyubid periods. Made from
mud or baked mud-​bricks, they consist of a cube structure surmounted by an octagonal
drum, pierced by windows and supporting a dome. Domes could be covered by
stucco, ribbed or smooth, as we can see in the tombs of ʿAtika (1100), Shagaret El
Dorr (1270) and Sabaʿa banat (1110) (Figure 6.10). This first type evolved during the
Bahari Mamluk era (1250–​1380), when stone replaced the mud-​brick for the walls and
the domes began to take on decorative elements including ribbed, zigzag or star-​shaped

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Figure 6.8 Tomb of Sitti Kalthum Hanim, wife of Ismail Pacha Yakan, 1906, southern
Necropolis. Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

polygon designs. Over time, these isolated mausolea or Qubba, which punctuated the
landscape of the necropolises representing outstanding landmarks, began to be flanked
by one or two other religious foundations. These foundations formed smaller funerary
complexes, becoming the precursors of the largest ones, such as the Khawand Tughay
(1348), a khanqah with two iwans and a domed mausoleum. All that remains of this
monument is the impressive vaulted iwan, whose size and location make it the main
local landmark, visible even from a distance. Also included are the Zawya-​madrassa
of Zayn-​al-​Din Yusuf (1299), and the mosque, khanqah, mausoleum and minaret of
Qawsun (1335).
The most lavish types are composed of vast funerary complexes that are character-
istic of the Circassian (Burgi) Mamluk era (1382–​1517). These complexes usually contain
many foundations, including the mausoleum, a mosque, madrassa, khanqah, sabil and
sometimes a rabʿ and a maqʿad. Some mausolea contain three or more of these types of
foundations, others all of them, such as those of Inal, Korkomas and Barsbey. The lar-
gest of them is the mausoleum and khanqah of Sultan Barquq in the Eastern Necropolis,
which covers an area of 4650 m2. However, the most magnificent and famous edifice of
this type is the mosque-​mausoleum of Qaytbay (1472), located in the Eastern Necropolis.
Its funerary complex is one of the most remarkable and Islamic art experts hail it as
the most perfect example of the style for this period. It is the core of an outstanding
group of structures that some historians have described as a “royal suburb”, because it
includes a host of services and establishments to serve both short-​term stays and long-​
term residents. The whole group is surrounded by an outer wall with two entrances that
has survived to the present day.69

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1340 Years of Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis

Figure 6.9 Tomb of Al-Hagin Family, 1930, eastern Necropolis. Courtesy of Alain Bonnamy.

Conclusion
All of these treasures contained within medieval Cairo’s City of the Dead, listed or
not, known or unknown, are today at the heart of a conflict between the cities of the
living and the dead. On the one hand, the residential enclaves that have developed
around the main monuments are eating ever further into the funerary fabric, and, on
the other hand, the Islamic cemeteries are eating into the urban fabric of the living.
Both the authorities and property developers played high stakes on the space occu-
pied by the cemeteries, which they saw as barriers to the city’s eastward expansion.
This was highly coveted land given the soil structure and the fact that their proximity
to urban neighborhoods meant that they would be easy to equip with basic infra-
structure. The option favored in 1986 by planning officials was to transfer the tombs
to sites further out into the desert and use the freed-​up land to develop high-​class
residential districts.
This option, being off the agenda for more than three decades, has recently
re-​emerged. The 2050 Master Plan for Egypt lists the historical multifunctional ceme-
tery of Cairo as one of the sites targeted for demolition. Tombs will be erased and only
the listed monuments and paradoxically their surrounding residential districts will be
preserved. The walled family burial yards with their open burial grounds dotted with
cenotaphs will be demolished and the empty land will ostensibly be converted into gar-
dens. Cairo’s traditional site of burial will be eradicated and our Egyptian ancestors will
be desecrated. This plan for the cemetery is based on ignorance, at best, and misinfor-
mation, at worst. It ignores the true historical value of the cemeteries, reducing it to the
listed monuments. But it is the City of the Dead as an ensemble that is truly remarkable
and unique. Its unique characteristics that are celebrated on an international level are

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Galila El Kadi

Figure 6.10A The Saba’banat mausoleum, after Creswell.

Figure 6.10B The Saba’banat mausoleum, in 2014. Photo by Galila El Kadi.

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denigrated locally as the media continues to propagate a disdainful image of the phenom-
enon of cemetery dwellers. To them, it is a modern illegal and immoral phenomenon and,
as such, the cemetery is stigmatized as existing on a site of lawlessness, destitution and
shame with no value beyond the listed historical religious edifices.
Indeed, the greatest shame is the ambiguous policies of the authorities. One of its main
paradoxes is its engagements with the international heritage safeguarding organizations
like UNESCO, who listed the City of the Dead as a World Heritage Site. At the same
time another governmental body, the National Organization for Urban Harmony, has
listed outstanding large family hawches for their exceptional cultural value. This attitude
of double standards by the authorities is highly contradictory. On the one hand, it issued
laws and decrees prohibiting habitation in the cemeteries and codified land use, while on
the other hand negating its own juridical system by tolerating the major development
of the cemeteries’ urban districts, regularly destroying the vast listed family tombs in
favor of an intrusive transportation network. The recent demolition of several dozen
tombs belonging to famous figures in the worlds of art, literature, economy and politics
to install a bridge linking two highways in one of the transversal roads of the Eastern
Necropolis is a testimony to this contradiction. It is indicative of the lack of any research
with regard to these graveyards, both historical and modern, in the City of the Dead and
how to manage this relationship. The partial demolition in 2012 of recent cemeteries
founded in the 1960s for the construction of a new highway70 clearly demonstrates the
absence of a comprehensive planning vision.
Following the outrage and subsequent large mobilization in protest, the first ever
in favor of the City of the Dead against the Al-​Fardous Bridge project, the planning
authorities must review the destructive elements of their 2050 strategic master plan.
There must be more attention given to alternative creative projects produced by architects

Figure 6.11 The Qaytbey monument hidden by informal settlement development. Photo by
Galila El Kadi.

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and planners whose aim is to safeguard heritage and rehabilitation of the site rather than
support the blind and brutal demolition of its historical and social fabric.
The most urgent intervention is to halt the construction of densely packed multi-​
level buildings within in the vicinity of the funeral monuments. These buildings obstruct
the skyline around the monuments and disfigure the landscape, placing a great deal of
pressure on an already saturated sewage network, with leakages causing much damage
to valuable neighboring tombs (Figure 6.11). Horizontal extensions have also been
observed, causing destruction to the graveyards of famous historical figures.71
Without these urgent preliminary actions, the historical City of the Dead with its
unique and prestigious monuments, already at high risk and under pressure, will be no
better than garbage collection points.
In 1986 we wrote at the conclusion of our book the following: It looks so much as
though the cemeteries will continue evolving in that direction (urbanisation), with intensive
construction of variable quality –​yet definitely no longer shanty-​grade –​housing, and the
gradual ascendancy of activities such as garbage processing.
Worse still, they look set to evolve into afourth-​or fifth-​rate town.72
We still hope that the scientific and greater community debate and protest will lead to
the substitution of cultural values for speculative options. This is a modest contribution
toward raising people’s awareness of the need to safeguard the heritage and to handle it
with care.

Notes
1 M. Ragon (1981) L’Espace de la Mort, essais sur l’architecture, la décoration et l’urbanisation
funéraires, Albin Michel, Paris.
2 R. Auzelle (1965) Dernières Demeures, conception, conception, composition, réalisation, du
cimetière contemporain, Paris, Presse de de l’Imprimerie Mazarine.
3 A toponym stemming from the name of the Banu Qarafa ibn Ghusn ibn Wali clan of the
Yemenite tribe of Banu Ma’afir. Originally it denoted the tribe’s allotted khitta (plot of land) in
the city of Fustat. It fell into a state of neglect and ruin during the famine that ravaged Egypt
from 1066 to 1072, and probably came to be used as a burial ground thereafter. The name Qarafa
was subsequently extended to all of Cairo’s cemeteries (al-​Maqrizi 1853, vol. 2, 442; al-​Hamawi
1906, vol. 7, 43–​44). It is still used for Muslim cemeteries, especially in urban areas, in place of
more fitting terms such as gabanat (plural of gabana), meaning “desert”; or maqaber (plural of
maqbara), which stems from qabara (“to bury a body”); or madafin (plural of madfan), “burial
place”, the verb dafana meaning “to hide” (Ibn Manzur 1967, 189). In rural areas, the most com-
monly used term is turab, plural of turba, meaning “dust”, i.e. the fate of the human body after
death (al-​Maqri 1898, vol. 1, 43).
4 Sightings were reported, in the wake of highly disturbing mass hallucinations, in the area between
Gareh Hill and Ain al-​Sira.
5 L. Massignon (1958) La cité des morts au Caire, Qarafat-​Darb el-​Ahmar, Institut français
d’archéologie orientale, Le Caire (42).
6 According to Kubiak (1987), this was not standard practice among the Arabs in the lands they
conquered. In Kufa, for instance, each tribe had its own cemetery located within the boundaries
of its allotted share of land, its khitta. And in Damascus, tribal cemeteries were located at the
foot of Mount Qaysun because it was believed to be hallowed ground. In Cairo, as in Damascus,
the choice of site had less to do with geology and geography than with religious beliefs and sym-
bolism (Kubiak 1987, 109; Ibn Khalkhan 1878, 342; Hamza 1986, 16).
7 “Each tribe evidently had a separate cemetery. These tribal burial grounds, which are confirmed
for the fourteenth/​fifteenth century, must have originated at a time when the tribal social struc-
ture was still strong” (Kubiak 1987, 94, 109, 110).

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8 Kubaik (1987) 84, 87 and H.’Abd el-​Wahab (1993) Tarikh al-​masajid al-​athariya (Histoire des
mosquées monumentales), Al Hayâ al-​Masriya al-​’Amma lil Kétab, Le Caire, 33.
9 Y. Raghib (1981) “Les mausolées fatimides du quartier d’El-​ Machahid”, in Annales
Islamologiques, t. XVII, Institut français d’archéologie orientale, Le Caire, pp. 1–​29.
10 T.A. Al-​Maqrizi (1853), El-​mawa’iz wal i’tibar bi Zikr al -​Khittat wal athar, t. I et II, Boulaq,
Le Caire.
11 Al-​Muqaddasi provides the only description of their architecture, describing them as “magnifi-
cent and whitewashed”, a succinct yet vague glimpse that tells us nothing about their shapes and
sizes. Tombstones in general were probably barely indistinguishable from the other rocks on the
ground or the shawahids (singular, Shahid) of the kind still found there today. The only edifices
of note were the various tribes’ mosque-​mausolea, all 35 of which have since vanished (Hamza
1986, 28; Kubiak 1987, 110), together with the six domes of the mashhad of Sharif Tabataba,
dating back to the Ikhshidid period (933–​969, i.e. before the Fatimids).
12 The Alids were the descendants of ’Ali ibn Abi Talib, cousin of the Prophet, and his son-​
in-​law by marriage to his daughter Fatima, and the Caliph al-​Hakim, who built the shrines
planned to transport the supposed ashes of the Prophet and the two caliphs there from Medina.
The shrines remained empty yet still became a pilgrimage site revered and visited on various
occasions by the Fatimids and their dignitaries (Raghib 1981, 3–​4).
13 The mashhads of ’Atika, Ja’fari, Sukayna and Ruqayya (Raghib, 1981, 3–​4).
14 Al-​Hakim (996–​1020) was said to have gone for nocturnal walks there in search of “pious mem-
ories” (Massignon 1958, 65).
15 It was actually a shrine built in 1085 for someone whose identity remains a mystery to historians.
According to Farid Shafi’i, for instance, it was an observation post “disguised as a mosque”,
whereas, to others such as Oleg Grabar, it functioned as a memorial to Badr (Behrens-​Abouseif
1989, 66).
16 The Khan al-​Khalili was established in 1292 by Sultan al-​Ashraf Khalil ibn Qalawun, and later
underwent extension work during the reign of Qansuh al-​Ghuri. Nowadays, this khan is the
main bazaar in Cairo (Herz Bey in Benedite and Joanne in Guide of Egypt 1920, 91).
17 M. Herz Bey (1920) Monuments de l’Art Arabe, dans le Guide Benedite (G.) et H. Joanne,
Paris, 91.
18 Gawseq is a Persian word for small fortress or qasr (palace). There were 18 of these in the
Qarafa. Usually built on high ground and offering a panoramic view, they were places where
people went for walks, to seek solitude or for prayer (al-​Maqrizi in Hamza 1986, 42).
19 Ribat was originally the word for an army barracks, a place for resting soldiers and their horses.
It later came to be used for various kinds of pious foundations such as Sufi retirement homes
and hostels for the elderly and needy and others. The Fatimids were the first to introduce ribats,
eight of them in all, serving as old people’s homes and hostels providing social welfare and a
religious education for the needy, into the Qarafa (al-​Maqrizi in Hamza 1986, 42).
20 Historians have mentioned ten or so wells, sabil fountains and drinking troughs in the Qarafa.
The water supply system also included two aqueducts, the most important being the ibn Tulun
aqueduct, built in the ninth century to supply the Ma’afer khitta with water from Birkat al-​
Habash. Another aqueduct was built in 1121 by al-​Afdal Shahinshah, son of Badr al-​Jamali
(al-​Kandi 1971, 115; ibn Khalkan in Hamza 1986, 50–​52).
21 A. Amin (1953) Qamus al-​’adat wal taqalid wal ta’abir al-​misriyya (Dictionnaire des mœurs et
des traditions égyptiennes), Makatbet AL-​Englo, Le Caire, 322
22 According to Massignon (1958), the most fundamental characteristic social feature of the
Qarafa, Cairo’s Southern Cemetery, is the throng of women taking their children to pray among
the tombs on Fridays.
23 During the caliphate of al-​Mustansir Billah (1053–​1094) a civil war broke out between the
Turks and the Sudanese troops. Egypt was blighted by a seven-​year famine and ravaged by the
plague. Having lost his authority over Upper Egypt to the slaves, and with the countryside in
the hands of the Bedouins, the Fatimid caliph appealed to the governor of ’Akka (Saint John
of Acre) and the general Badr al-​Jamali for help. Order was soon restored, Cairo regained its
splendour, and a proliferation of new mosques and trading companies appeared. The restor-
ation work; however, centred on al-​Qahira to the detriment of Fustat, which had been severely
affected by the political and economic strife. And the recovery of the Fatimid state under Badr
and his successors was to prove short-​lived, with the accession of Caliph al-​Amir ibn Ahkam

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Allah in 1101 marking the start of its slide into terminal decline (Mubaraq 1969, vol. 1, 51–​59;
Raymond 1993, 76–​79).
24 In 1164 a Frankish army arrived in Egypt, responding to an appeal from the Fatimid vizier
Shawar to help his people defend themselves against the attacking Syrian forces led by Shirkuh.
The campaign ended three years later in an agreement settled between the antagonists. But
the hostilities resumed and the Franks seized the town of Belbeis (on the eastern side of
the Nile Delta), directly threatening Cairo. As the invaders drew near, Shawar, who had just
overturned his alliances, gave the order to set fire to Fustat. “Twenty thousand pitchers of
naft (oil) were poured on the workshops, houses, palaces and mosques. The inhabitants were
evacuated to Cairo, and the fire raged for fifty days” (al-​Maqrizi 1853, 337; Mubaraq 1969,
vol. 1, 62).
25 T.A. Al-​Maqrizi (1853), 337 and A. Moubaraq (1969), Al-​Khittat al-​Tawfiquéya al-​Gadida,
Al Hayâ al-​’Amma lil Kétab, vol. 1, Le Caire, 62
26 ’Uqba ibn Amir was governor of Egypt for three years (655–​658) during the caliphate of
Mu’awiyah ibn Abu Sufyan (Mubaraq 1969, vol. 5, 133; al-​Sakhawy, 345; Ibn Iyas, 118).
27 Imam Al-​Shafe’i is the founder of one of the four Islamic rites.
28 The most famous being the Turba of Amir Lo Lo al-​’Adil, who died in 1199. This tomb, also
known as Masjid al-​Andalusi, was built in 1178, but has vanished without trace. It had a
garden, fountains and a loggia (maq’ad) overlooking a patio (rehba) (al-​Maqrizi 1853, vol. 2,
85–​86).
29 F. Chafe’I (1970) Al-​’amara al-​’arabéya fi Masr al-​islaméya (L’architecture arabe dans l’Egypte
islamique), vol. I, Al-​Hayâ al-​’Amma lil Taalif wal-​Nachr, Le Caire, 9.
30 Ibn Jubair (1954), Al Rehla, Voyage, édit. de Beyrouth, 90.
31 Hassan et al. 1953, 10.
32 Abd al-​Satar (1976), Chehata (1959), Fakri (1969).
33 T.A. Al-​Maqrizi (1853), 296.
34 After the death of al-​Salih Ayyub in 1249 at Mansura, where the Ayyubid army had been doing
battle with the crusaders, his wife, Shajarat al-​Durr, sent for their son, Turan Shah, who led
the troops to victory and secured the surrender of Saint Louis. However, the latter’s reign as
sultan was cut short after just two months when he was assassinated in April 1250 by his father’s
Mamluks. Shajarat al-​Durr was named sultana on the 6th of May 1250, but was pressured into
abdicating 80 days later by the Mamluks and the Abbasid Caliph al-​Mustansir Billah. Her pos-
ition was taken by her new husband, ’Izz al-​Din Aybak, who became the first sultan of the Bahri
Mamluk Dynasty (Raymond 1993, 110; al-​Ansari 1994, 92–​93).
35 T.A. Al-​Maqrizi (1853),
36 The tombs of al-​Ashraf Khalil (1290–​1293) and Fatima Khatun (1284).
37 This zawiya was surrounded by the dwellings of the descendants of Shaykh Abd al-​Qadir al-​
Jilani, which is how the northern stretch of Imam al-​Shafi’i Road and the urban neighbourhood
bordering it to the east came to be named al-​Qadiriyya (al-​Maqrizi 1853, vol. 2, 304).
38 M. Hamza (1986), Qarafet al-​Qahira fi ’asr al-​salatine al-​mamalik (Les cimetières du Caire à
l’époque des sultans mamelouks, thèse de doctorat, multig., faculté d’archéologie, université du
Caire. 71–​81.
39 Ibid., 82
40 In their desire to be granted a place in paradise, the Mamluk sovereigns sought to share the
benefits of religious festivals with orphans, the poor and the residents of mosques, madrasas,
khanqahs and other religious institutions, by handing out cakes, dates, nuts, sweets, clothes and
large amounts of meat (Amin 1980, 142–​143; 144–​148).
41 Some of the waqf funds were used to buy camels, buffalos, cows and sheep to be sacrificed in
front of schools, orphanages and mosques, and then offered to waqf officials and the needy
(locals and those passing through). Al-​Maqrizi 1932, n. 8.
42 A. Amin (1980), 142–​148.
43 Some travelers have compared the populations of the Qarafa al-​Kobra and the Qarafa al-​Soghra
respectively to those of Alexandria and Homs (’Ashur 1962, 57–​58).
44 Travelers such as Ibn Jubair, Ibn ’Said al-​Maghrébi and others spent several nights in the Qarafa
during their stay in Cairo. The chronicler Ibn Iyas, for his part, wrote that “the people preferred
to live in the Qarafa than in the city of the living” (Hamza 1986, 49) (Ibn Iyas Bada’ï al-​zuhur
fi waqa’ï al-​duhur, t1, 468).

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45 M. Hamza (1986).
46 According to the historian Ibn Taghri Bardi, it wiped out some 3,000 Malian and Sudanese
people living in the Qarafa (Ibn Taghri Bardi 1932, vol. 14, 342).
47 A.A. Hamza (1989), 25
48 The number of such edifices built by the pashas fell sharply from 16 in the sixteenth century
to just two by the time Muhammad ’Ali came to power in the nineteenth century (Hamza
1989, 30).
49 The mosques of Mesih Pasha (sixteenth century), the zawiya of Mustafa Pasha (seventeenth
century), the mausolea of Sidi Uqba (renovated) and al-​Tahawi (1686), the Sabil al-​Ahmar,
built by ’Ali Pasha al-​Salihdar, and the khanqah of Nizamiyya in the Eastern Cemetery (Hamza
1989, 25).
50 Unlike the pashas, the Mamluk emirs built all manner of edifices including mosques, zawiyas,
takiyyas, sabils and others; the number of which increased exponentially from eight to 50 over
the same period. Oda Pasha, Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan, ‘Abd al-​Rahman Katkhuda and others
peppered Cairo with an array of lavish buildings. Katkhuda in particular played a leading role
through the architectural work he pioneered, so much so that he was dubbed the “the greatest
of all patrons”, or the “prince of renovators” (Raymond 1993, 31–​32; Raymond 1995).
51 The turba of Othman Bey al-​Qazdughli, the tomb of Nur al-​Din al-​Qarafi, and al-​Sadat al-​
Wafa’iyya Mosque.
52 G. Sandys and W. Lithgow, 65
53 J.Sommern, Voyages en Egypte, des années 1589–​1590–​1591, 189
54 Several cemeteries between Ataba and Bab al-​ Khalq square were razed to the ground:
al-​Qassed, al-​Azbakiyya, al-​Rawi’i and Sayyida Zaynab (Mubaraq 1969, 159).
55 Jomard; E.F. “Description du Caire”, in Description de l’Egypte: Etat moderne, vol. 2; bk.
2. 1882, Paris L’Impimerie Royale.
56 Amin (1980) and Gad (1984).
57 Muhammad ‘Ali was buried in his mosque in the Citadel. This mausoleum is also the final
resting place of his son Ibrahim (2nd of September –​10th of November 1848), his son Tusun
and grandsons Abbas (1848–​1854) and Isma‘il (1863–​1879), as well as their wives and children,
and then later, King Faruq (1936–​1952).
58 The furnishings, including wooden cenotaphs, armchairs and sofas were designed in the
workshops of the School of Arts and Crafts set up by the pasha’s mother, which became her
final resting place. The armchairs were moved here from ’Abdin Palace and were used during
the ceremony for the opening of the Suez Canal (Ricard et al. 1985, 266).
59 The construction of Muhammad ‘Ali and Clot Bey Avenues alone, for instance, involved the
leveling of some 750 buildings (cf. Raymond André, Le Caire, in L’Egypte d’aujourd’hui, per-
manence et changements, 1805–​1976, Paris, édit. du CNRS, 1977, 213–​242).
60 R. Ilbert (1986), « Egypte-​ 1900-​habitat populaire, société Coloniale ». In Etat, ville et
mouvement sociaux au Maghreb et au Moyen Orient, Actes du colloque CNRS-​ESRC Paris;
23–​27 Mai 1986, ed. K Brown et al. 266–​282. Paris: L ‘Harmattan.
61 It was a gift from the Khedive Tewfik (1879–​1892) to the quarrymen living in huts at the time
and being hounded by the police.
62 A closer look at the census data shows the arrival in the cemeteries of new socio-​professional
groups involved in the large-​scale urban development work that had been ongoing for half a
century, including the quarrymen and marble cutters (cf. Recensement general de la population
du Royaume de l’Egypte, 1897, t1, vol. 1).
63 By 1907, the area had been incorporated into the city transport network, with a terminus
tramway on Imam al-​Shafi ‘i Square. In 1983 there were more than 15 bus routes running across
it and two termini located inside the area (El Kadi, Bonnamy 2007, 228).
64 Tomb of Umar Makram in the Eastern Cemetery was transformed into a nursery and a training
center for seamstresses, and the tomb of Said Pacha Tanak in Al Imam al Shafei Street was
transformed into a school.
65 Approximately 12,000 housing units per year were collapsing at this time. In 1965, 70,000 new
units had to be built to replace run-​down properties (Raymond 1972, 234).
66 G. EL Kadi and A. Bonnamy (2007), Architecture for the dead; Cairo’s Medieval Necropolis,
AUC Press, Egypt. First published in French, in 2001 under the title La Cité des morts au Caire.
Edit. Mardaga and the IRD.

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67 According to the 1986 official population census, a total of 179,057 people were inhabiting the
estates and the tombs at the time. We, on the other hand, found the tomb dwellers to number
15,000 (El Kadi, Bonnamy 2007).
68 There are now six official mulids celebrated.
69 This complex has a cruciform layout with four iwans and contains many other annexes such
as a maq’ad, a riwaq to accommodate the sultan and the sultana on their visits, a small sabil,
a kitchen, two washrooms, a four-​horse stable, a library, and opposite to it, a rab’ was built
for the Sufis; followed by a sabil kuttab on the north side. Another building, of which only the
façade has survived and whose function remains a bone of contention among historians, could
have been used as a rab’, but others say a caravanserai. To this core of buildings were added
living quarters for Al-​Azhar students, a collective tomb for the sultan’s emancipated slaves,
apartments for important guests, lodgings for the staff responsible for the upkeep and manage-
ment of the complex; all the waterwheels and tanks needed for water supply; and finally houses
for dancers.
70 Mehwar al-​Mouchir Tantawi, which now links the express road to New Cairo, Nasr City and
the Ring Road. It was inaugurated in 2012 and provoked the demolition of Christian and
Muslim tombs of the two new Madinet Nasr cemeteries constructed at the end of the 1950s.
71 During 2020, two new east-​west thoroughfares were cut into the cemeteries, demolishing valu-
able tombs. The greatest damage occurred to the Eastern Necropolis, where construction of
the new of Al-​Fardous (the heaven) Bridge led to the demolition of the tombs belonging to
many famous and pioneering figures of the modern era in Egypt within the fields of politics
(Ahamad Lotfi El Sayed and Hassan Pacha Sabry), economy (Aboud Pacha), education (Zaki
al-​Mohandis), cultural heritage conservation (Asaad Nadim) and medicine (Nours al-​Dine
Tarraf).
72 G. El Kadi and A. Bonnamy (2007), 285.

All images are by the author except for historic images which are in the public domain.

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d’archéologie orientale, Le Caire.
Moubaraq, A.P. (1969), Al-​Khittat al-​Tawfiquéya al-​ Gadida, Al Hayâ al-​ ’Amma lil Kétab,
vol. 4. Le Caire.
Mumford, L. (1961), The City in History: Its Origins, Its Transformations, and Its Prospects.
Harcourt, Brace & World, New York.
Prisse d’Avesnes, E. (2001), L’art arabe. L’Aventurisme, Paris.
Raghib, Y. (1981), “Les mausolées fatimides du quartier d’El-​Machahid”, in Annales Islamologiques,
t. XVII. Institut français d’archéologie orientale, Le Caire, pp. 1–​29.
—​—​—​. (1972), “Sur un groupe de mausolées du cimetière du Caire”, in Revue des études islamiques,
XL/​1. Paris, pp. 189–​195.
Ragon, M. (1981), L’Espace de la Mort, essais sur l’architecture, la décoration et l’urbanisation
funéraires. Albin Michel, Paris.
Robert, D. (1996), Carnets de Voyage. Egypte, Terre Sainte.
Salmon, G. (1902), Etude sur la topographie du Caire. La kal’at al-​kabch et la birkat al-​Fil. Mémoires
de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale, t. 7, Le Caire.
Sommer, J. Voyages en Egypte, des années 1589–​1590–​1591.

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7
POLICING CAIRO IN THE
NINETEENTH CENTURY
Khaled Fahmy

During the three centuries of the Ottoman rule, Cairo was a well-​governed city with
a remarkably low level of crime. Despite lacking municipal independence, the city had
an effective policing system notwithstanding the violent internecine fighting among the
ruling military elites. Still, this effective policing system fades in comparison to the one
that the city witnessed in the nineteenth century and that gave rise to the modern police
system as we know it today. This chapter describes how this modern police system was
created, how fundamentally different it was from the way the city was policed under the
Ottomans, and how its long-​term consequences went far beyond questions of security
and governance.

Policing Cairo during Ottoman Times

For a long time, both Western and Egyptian scholars on Ottoman Cairo bemoaned what
was considered to have been a sharp decline of the city’s fortunes following Sultan Selim’s
conquest of Egypt in 1517. From being the proud seat of a flourishing empire under
the Mamluks, Cairo was reduced to a mere provincial city within the far-​flung Ottoman
Empire. Above all, Cairo was seen to suffer from its lacking an independent municipality,
something that meant that “home rule and self-​government, considered to be the two
essential elements in modern municipal administration, were both aborted before they
began”.1 This negative image of Ottoman Cairo was fundamentally revised by André
Raymond, whose painstaking research in the archives of the shariʿa court records showed
that in terms of both its surface area and the size of its population, Cairo witnessed sig-
nificant growth during the three centuries of the Ottoman rule. “Despite the succession
of misfortunes [of plagues, famines and political crises,], Cairo was a larger city in 1798
than in the golden age of [the Mamluk sultan] al-​Naṣir [Muḥammad, r. 1293–​1340]”, he
concludes.2
More pertinently, rather than describing what Cairo lacked, ostensibly, an inde-
pendent municipality, Raymond managed to explain how such a city with a high popu-
lation density “enjoyed a remarkable degree of law and order”.3 While it is true that the
conflicts among the ruling elite affected the city, and while its population, in addition,
“suffered from the everyday oppression of those who held a small degree of power”,4

106 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-8

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Policing Cairo in the Nineteenth Century

there were various institutions that provided structure to the population and that allowed
the authorities to maintain peace and establish control.
To start with, Cairo was divided into around 50 neighborhoods called haras
(pl. ḥārāt).5 These were residential districts whose gates were closed at night for security
purposes. Each one of these haras was headed by a shaykh, shaykh al-​hara, who was
responsible for keeping the peace within his neighborhood. During the early years of
the Ottoman rule, the overall peace of the city was the responsibility of the Janissaries
to whom Sultan Selim had entrusted the task of guarding Cairo and its Citadel when
he invaded Egypt in 1517. Accordingly, their head, the agha of the Janissaries (here-
after “the agha”), was the most important functionary responsible for police duties.6
Overtime time, however, the role of the agha declined and that of the Governor of
Cairo, the wali, rose in importance. Eventually, a modus vivendi evolved between these
two officials whereby the agha oversaw police functions during the day, while the wali
made nocturnal rounds, and therefore the latter became associated in people’s minds
with supervision of taverns and prostitutes.7
Two more functionaries had important roles to play regarding urban security.
Although the judges (qadis, plural of “qadi”) who supervised the many shariʿa courts
scattered throughout the city had no specific mandate to regulate the affairs of the
city, they did interfere to maintain peace.8 Specifically, they often sent their deputies
to make sure that new buildings did not obstruct the public way, or to investigate par-
ticular complaints from residents against their neighbors who had opened a new door
or window and thus infringed on their privacy.9 Finally, the muḥtasib (market inspector)
investigated the quality of food sold in the market to ensure that there was no cheating, in
addition to checking weights, measures and prices.10 All these functionaries inflicted sum-
mary punishments on wrongdoers. Most often, these were corporal punishments (e.g.,
flogging, the bastinado and hanging), in addition to imprisonment. Serious crimes, like
homicide and murder, were adjudicated by the qadi according to the strict procedural
rules of fiqh (Islamic jurisprudence), while the wali investigated crimes in his own diwan
according to siyasa (state-​enacted law).11
Primarily, it was on the above-​mentioned residential neighborhoods, the haras, as well
as the trade corporations, ṭawa’if al-​ḥiraf, that the responsibility of the city’s security
fell.12 Being relatively closed structures, the neighborhoods performed policing functions
including protecting their residents from the internecine violence of the ruling military
households, resolving their own internal conflicts, as well as identifying and arraigning
any individual whom the wali or the agha might be seeking. For their part, the trade
corporations also maintained order within their quarters (given that they tended to
be geographically concentrated) in addition to performing important town-​planning
functions such as street cleaning and lighting. Between them, the neighborhoods and
the corporations “provided structure to the population … [and] paved the way for the
authorities to control the people”.13

Policing Cairo during the French Occupation

When Bonaparte and his troops landed in Egypt on 2 July 1798, they were faced with
fierce resistance not only from the Mamluk amirs, but also from the peasants.14 Their
entrance into Cairo on 22 July, a day after their decisive victory over the Mamluks in
the Battle of the Pyramids, did not mean that they found a placid city that was easy to
govern. In fact, throughout their short sojourn in Egypt, the French army of occupation

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confronted not one, but two, massive revolts in Cairo, the first on 21–​22 October 1798,
and the second on 20 March–​21 April 1800.
To deal with this hostile population and to help him govern the entire country,
Bonaparte appointed a diwan composed of nine senior “ulama”. With regard to policing
Cairo proper, he maintained the crucial triumvirate of the agha, the wali and the muḥtasib.
Above all, however, he recognized the crucial role that the shaykhs of neighborhoods and
corporations played in maintaining peace. A document dated 31 October 1798 refers to
the neighborhood shaykhs as “guarantors for the residents of their respective quarters.
They will be held responsible”, the document adds, “for any disorder that might occur
there, and if they are unable to remedy it, they promise to inform immediately the agha
of the janissaries”.15 As for the shaykhs of corporations, they, too, played an important
policing role. Following the suppression of the First Cairo Revolt, the shaykhs and
merchants of the Ghuriyya cloth market pledged in front of Bonaparte that they would
maintain the streets of their quarters free from all disturbances and would “take care to
restrain any wrongdoers”.16
Aside from these examples, in which they followed their precedents, the French
introduced two sets of measures that marked important departures from previous ways
of policing Cairo. The first of these measures were physical and topographical. Finding
the numerous neighborhoods with their endless twisted alleyways too dangerous for their
army of occupation, the French decided to group the haras into eight districts (called
khuṭṭ, pl. akhṭaṭ) and put each under a French commander. They also decided to remove
the gates of these neighborhoods. According to the journal of one of the French officers,
“The streets are obstructed by a prodigious number of gates that separate the different
quarters. The general-​in-​chief, fearing that these doors might be used in a riot to stop
the progress of the troops, has ordered them to be demolished”. The same military logic
informed the decision to remove the benches that shopkeepers used to build in front of
their shops, the maṣaṭib.17
The second set of innovations that the French introduced was granular and had to
do with hygienic concerns. When plague struck in 1799, the French wasted no time in
imposing a quarantine on Cairo, and the proclamation they announced on 24 March
1799 to this effect was remarkable, not only because it represented an unprecedented
means to combat a familiar phenomenon, nor because of the draconian punishments
that it stipulated for violators, rather what is remarkable about this declaration was that
it marked a novel approach to the population.18 The proclamation did stress the duty of
the neighborhood shaykhs as well as that of the agha to identify houses of the plague-​
stricken and to quarantine them with no delay, but, crucially, it also called on corpse-​
washers, both males and females, to report every individual plague case they encountered;
failing to do so was punishable by death. This determination to deal with the population
individually rather than collectively (e.g., via the neighborhoods or the corporations)
can also be detected in the other public health project the French attempted, namely,
the census based on information gathered from undertakers and midwives.19 This pro-
ject was not accomplished, however, as the French only managed to gather information
from undertakers, while the midwives evaded them.20 The ability of the authorities to
“see” individuals rather than collectives of ethnicities, professions, religious communi-
ties, tribes, etc., was something that gradually became possible only during Mehmet ʿAli’s
long reign, and the story of how he succeeded where the French had failed is an intri-
guing one that deserves close attention.

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Policing Cairo under Mehmet ʿAli’s Reign: the Early Years

From 1801 to 1805, Cairo descended into deep chaos and the country was teeming with a
multitude of warring factions –​Ottomans, Albanians, Mamluks, Syrians, in addition to
the odd Bedouin –​that had a devastating impact on Cairo, not only because this is where
these troops chose to fight each other (sometimes in a street-​to-​street manner, other times
by bombing the city from the Citadel above),21 but also because it was by taxing the
city’s merchants and artisans that the different factions sought to finance their military
exploits. Apart from untold destruction and misery, this led the population to rise up
repeatedly demanding an end to the indiscriminate fighting.22 Eventually, after four years
of incessant warfare within the city, Mehmet ʿAli emerged as the most powerful man
due, primarily, to the loyalty of the Albanian troops whose leadership he had assumed
after their chief had been assassinated in May 1803. Realizing that Mehmet ʿAli was the
only person capable of restoring order, the Sultan appointed him as governor of Egypt
in July 1805.23
The first thing Mehmet ʿAli needed to do to assert his new authority was to restore
peace to the wounded city, and the manner he did so gives an inkling of how his policy of
policing Cairo, and Egypt for that matter, would evolve over the following decades. The
coalition of forces that was instrumental in bringing him to power had to be dispersed
and each one of its constituents had to be defanged. First to go were the Albanians, who
demanded their delayed salaries and threatened to go on a mutiny –​they were dispatched
to the south to fight the Mamluks, and then to Arabia to fight the Wahhabis. Second,
the ulama, who thought they could impose their conditions on how to rule the country,
soon saw their land deprived of its tax-​free status, and some of them found themselves
put under house arrest, while others were exiled from Cairo. Third, the merchants who
had sided with the ulama in their attempt to tether his rule to their approval found their
activities monitored by a particularly harsh muḥtasib who used draconian corporal
punishments for the slightest infringements of market regulations. To drive the point
home, Hajjaj al-​Khudari, the chief of the greengrocers, who had played a pivotal role
in rallying the rabble of Cairo behind Mehmet ʿAli during the previous years’ bloody
confrontations, was summoned by the muḥtasib and unceremoniously hanged from one
of the sabils close to Bab Zuwayla, his body left there for a day and a night “before his
family was permitted to remove it for burial”.24 Most seriously, the Mamluk warlords
whose households had been the effective rulers of the country for centuries were fam-
ously invited to the Pasha’s palace in the Citadel on 1 March 1811, and upon departing,
found themselves trapped in a narrow passageway and massacred down to a man in a
bloodbath that was horrible even by the standards of the day.25
However, it is one thing to pacify a city by eliminating political rivals through impris-
onment, exile, assassinations and massacres, and it is quite another to establish a policing
system that is impersonal, efficient and permanent. And this is exactly what Mehmet ʿAli
managed to do through a long process of trial and error. Lying at the core of his efforts
to pacify Cairo was his own deep feelings of insecurity springing as they were from his
realization that despite getting rid of his domestic rivals, he was still susceptible to be
removed by Istanbul either by force or through intrigue. He was therefore keen to detect
any murmur of conspiracy that his rivals in the imperial capital might be hatching against
him domestically. His chief agent in this respect was Muhammad Lazughli, who entered
his service in 1810 and who became his deputy two years later. He was known to possess
a ruthless character and to have his fingers in many pies throughout the city. Chief among

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his accomplishments was setting in place a complex spy network that allowed him to foil
many a plot against his patron. The network involved countless agents who disguised
themselves as street vendors and roamed the various districts of Cairo at night hoping
to be invited into the houses of the rich and powerful. Once inside, they would feign
ignorance of Turkish and snoop on the conversations taking place therein. They would
then transcribe what they had overheard and deposit a nightly report at a certain secret
address, all this without ever being aware of their fellow conspirators or meeting up with
their chiefs. Their immediate superior, it turned out, was an old woman who was bilingual
in Arabic and Turkish and who used to give Arabic lessons to Mehmet ʿAli. This woman
would then gather these reports and, after summarizing and distilling them, would for-
ward a synopsis to Lazughli the following morning.26
In December 1813, Lazughli’s system of information-​gathering came handy. While
Mehmet ʿAli was away in Arabia fighting the Wahhabis, a certain Laṭif Agha who was
his key-​bearer (anahtar ağası) was encouraged by Istanbul to turn against his patron
with the promise of giving him the governorship of Egypt if he managed to stage a
palace coup. Lazughli soon heard of the plot and immediately sent his men to arrest
Laṭif Agha, and, without even interrogating him, had him beheaded in Rumayla Square
at the foot of the Citadel. When Mehmet ʿAli returned from Arabia, he approved of
what Lazughli had done. He inquired, however, if he had been certain of the accusations
against Laṭif Agha and asked him why he had not interrogated Laṭif before executing
him. “If I had done so”, Lazughli replied, “it would have been my head that would be
chopped off instead.”27
The Pasha’s anxieties about his own security deepened following a graver incident two
years later. This time it was his own Albanian troops who conspired to kill him when they
heard that he was determined to impose harsh discipline on them. The attempt failed
miserably. The Albanians reluctantly complied with the Pasha’s orders to perform mili-
tary drills on the first day only to conspire to kill him the following night. But the Pasha
heard of the plot in the nick of time and was speedily escorted to the Citadel. As soon
as the conspirators realized their plan had been foiled, they went on the rampage in the
markets of Cairo looting and damaging a considerable amount of property. Mehmet ʿAli
was only able to pacify the merchants and the populace by agreeing to return their stolen
property or to compensate them for the damage they had suffered.28
One year later, another incident took place that literally brought home to Mehmet
ʿAli the seriousness of the security situation. On 27 June 1816, thieves broke into his own
palace in Shubra and stole all the coffee utensils they could find. The Pasha immediately
summoned the person in charge of the neighborhood’s police (ba‘ḍ arbab al-​darak bi tilka
al-​ naḥiya) and ordered him to locate and arraign the thieves with no delay. The official
requested, and was granted, a few days. He then produced five thieves, and all the loot
was retrieved. He ordered the thieves impaled in various parts of Cairo. Moreover, before
being executed in this horrible way, they had to identify their accomplices. Fifty more
thieves were arrested. They were hanged in various provinces throughout the country.29
Mehmet ʿAli’s reaction was indicative of how, in these early years of his long reign, he
thought of establishing a policing system that would have the required deterrent effect.
Still, the lack of an effective police force remained a nagging problem. Four years later,
Jabarti tells us, rumors spread that bands of thieves were on the loose in the country-
side as well as in Cairo. Fearful for their own safety, people reinforced the doors of their
houses and the gates of their neighborhoods. Orders were issued forbidding them from
walking the streets after dark. The Pasha’s deputy in collaboration with the agha of the

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plain-​clothes police (agha al-​tabdeel) and the wali roamed the streets at night and arrested
everybody they came upon, “even though there was no suspicion attached to him”.30

Policing Cairo under Mehmet ʿAli: the Middle Years

It was increasingly becoming clear to the Pasha how his own security was intertwined
with policing Cairo, and that having a tight system of intelligence-​gathering was not
enough. Characteristically, it also appears that he thought that spectacular punishments
might cow onlookers into submission, but the deterrent effect of these punishments was
not guaranteed to last. Equally clear to him was the need to build a strong, permanent
and reliable fighting force that could repulse any attempt by Istanbul to dislodge him
from Egypt by force. These twin impulses, namely, policing Cairo and defending Egypt,
were behind the fateful decision he took in 1822 to build a standing army based on
conscripting the peasants and to start training these new conscripts in Aswan as far away
from Cairo as possible in order to avoid a repeat of the 1813 fiasco with the Albanians.31
Conscription was a very risky matter as it entailed arming the peasants just when
resentment against the Pasha’s policies was gaining momentum. Indeed, a large rebel-
lion broke out in Upper Egypt against conscription, and it was suppressed only after
4,000 peasants were killed.32 Having stood fast in front of this challenge, Mehmet ʿAli
proceeded with his conscription policy with vigor and determination. Subjected to the
strict military drills, the peasants were transformed into docile soldiers, and soon enough
the first battalions were formed and immediately dispatched to different theatres of oper-
ation in Greece, Arabia and Syria. By the early 1830s, therefore, Mehmet ʿAli had at his
disposal disciplined, battle-​hardened troops who would prove decisive in manning the
reconstituted police of the capital.33
In the meantime, the manner in which Cairo was policed since Ottoman times had
to be thoroughly revised. To recapitulate, three officers were in charge of the city’s
security: the agha, the wali and the muḥtasib. Step by step, Mehmet ʿAli replaced each
one of this trio. Firstly, he introduced a new position, the ḍabiṭ (also referred to as ḍabiṭ
bey), whose job was to oversee the security of the entire city. Assisting him in doing so
was a new bureau, the Ḍabṭiyya, whose exact date of establishment is not certain, but
which was most likely in the late 1820s.34 Its headquarters, known as the ḍabiṭkhana, was
located in al-​Muski Street, where there was a high concentration of European residents
and merchants, and from there the ḍabiṭ spread his influence throughout the city, soon
eclipsing the wali as the chief official in charge of policing. European travelers in the
1830s were quick to notice the shift in the relative weight of these two officials.35 In
the late 1840s or the early 1850s the ḍabiṭkhana was relocated to the neighboring dis-
trict of al-Azbakiyya and came to be known simply as Ḍabṭiyyat Miṣr, or the Cairo
Police, and its head came to be referred to as Ma’mour Ḍabṭiyyat al-​Maḥrusa, (the Police
Commissioner of the Capital).
Secondly, the Pasha saw the crucial advantage of the French innovation of aggre-
gating the city’s 50-​odd neighborhoods under eight districts. He therefore reintroduced
these districts, but with some important changes. First, they were no longer called akhṭaṭ,
but athman (sing. thumn), literally one-​eighth. These thumns were: Bab al-​Sha‘riyya,
al-​Jammaliyya, al-​Darb al-​Aḥmar, al-​Khalifa, ‘Abdin, al-​Sayyida Zaynab, al-​Muski and
al-​Azbakiyya. In addition, the two suburbs of Bulaq and Old Cairo were added, and thus
Cairo came to have ten eighths.36 Each one of these districts was headed by an official
called shaykh al-​thumn. This official was not chosen by the residents but was appointed

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Khaled Fahmy

by the rapidly expanding central administration. His duties included collecting the capi-
tation tax (firdeh) from the residents and “furnishing children for the schools and work-
people for the factories”.37 Second, in each thumn a police station was established, called
ḍabṭiyyat al-​thumn, headed by a police officer known as ma’mour al-​ḍabṭiyya, and this
ma’mour was responsible for the security of his district. Third, the smaller and more
numerous neighborhoods, the haras, were headed each by a shaykh, shaykh al-​hara,
who, unlike shaykh al-​thumn, was chosen by the residents, “not appointed by the state”.38
Moreover, each hara had a guardhouse, karakoul, headed by an officer called naẓir al-​
qulluq, and, crucially, manned by uniformed, disciplined soldiers who had received their
training in the army. The shaykh al-​thumn and the shaykh al-​hara therefore found them-
selves competing for influence in their own districts with the district police commissioner,
ma’mour ḍabṭiyyat al-​thumn and the naẓir al-​qulluq, respectively. And with ma’mour
al-​ḍabṭiyya and naẓir al-​qulluq having at their disposal armed men under uniform, it was
clear how these two police officers had the upper hand over the shaykhs of the districts
and neighborhoods. In this way, the ḍaṭiyyas, i.e., the police stations, and the karakouls,
i.e., the smaller guardhouses, replaced the agha of the Janissaries in maintaining peace on
the district and neighborhood levels.
Thirdly, this web of policemen, police stations and police commissioners were
supervised by a bureau located in the Citadel that was also in charge of numerous
other internal affairs throughout the country, apart from finances. This bureau was first
established in 1220 AH /​1805–​1806 AD and was initially known as Diwan al-​Wali and
later as al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi. During its early years, it was headed by one of Mehmet
ʿAli’s most trusted officials, Ḥabib Efendi.39 A decree passed in June 1837 AD, famously
known as Qanoun al-​Siyasatnamah, stipulated that al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi would continue
(kama fiʿl-​sabiq) to look into the legal affairs of the Capital (̉umour aḥkam Maḥrusat
Miṣr), as well as all matters that used to be viewed by the muḥtasib after this latter pos-
ition had been abolished.40 Thus, al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi replaced the muḥtasib, the third of
the three officers who had been in charge of policing Cairo under the Ottomans.
By the late 1830s, therefore, the manner in which the capital was policed had been
fundamentally transformed. The old policing system that was based on the agha, the wali
and the muḥtasib in conjunction with the shaykhs of neighborhoods and corporations
was replaced by a centralized system composed of guardhouses and police stations
that were, in turn, manned by armed, uniformed soldiers and supervised by police
commissioners appointed by an efficient bureau located in the Citadel. Neighborhoods
were no longer in charge of their own security, nor were market infractions dealt with
on the spot by inflicting severe corporal punishment the way the muḥtasib used to do.
The armed uniformed police roamed the streets and markets during daytime to keep the
peace assisted occasionally by a contingent of roving plain-​clothes police. At night, they
made sure that pedestrians carried lanterns and assisted in the work of the patrols.41 As
for the gates that separated one neighborhood from another and that the French removed
during their brief occupation, these were reintroduced, but were guarded by the Pasha’s
troops.42
Under the new policing system, quarrels between spouses or private persons (“Zayd
and ‘Amr” as the 1838 ordinance re-​organizing al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi put it) were to be
dealt with in the ḍabiṭkhāna on al-​Muski Street by the head of the police in the presence
of an official from al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi. The aim was to achieve a reconciliation between
the parties, although European travelers invariably described scenes of beating in the
police station either to induce the accused to confess (in which case they would typically

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Policing Cairo in the Nineteenth Century

use the formulaic phrase “I was seduced by the devil”43), or as punishment. If the inci-
dent was not resolved in the police station, then it would be sent to al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi
together with a written report that would have been prepared in the police station. Serious
cases such as murder, theft and indecency would be adjudicated by the qadi in the shariʿa
court according to the stringent conditions of establishing proof set down by Ḥanafi fiqh.
In addition, these serious cases would be brought to the attention of al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi
for investigation and trial according to siyasa.44

Policing Cairo in the Middle Decades of the Nineteenth Century

Thus, by the mid-​1830s one can detect the emergence of a new approach to maintaining
peace in the city. The uniformed police stationed at the numerous karakuls roamed the
streets of the city arresting wrongdoers and sending them to the ḍabiṭkhana on al-​Muski
Street. There, simple cases were dealt with and summary punishments, mostly beating,
were meted out. More serious cases were sent to al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi for investigation
without, however, sidestepping the crucial role played by the qadi courts, especially when
dealing with homicide cases.45 It is noteworthy, for example, that no capital punishment
was meted out without a qiṣaṣ verdict having been previously issued by a qadi court. This
nascent security regime was further developed by the establishment of various councils
(majalis) in the 1840s which took over from al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi its judicial functions.
The first of these councils was al-​Jam‘iyya al-​Ḥaqqaniyya, which was established in 1842
and which, “in addition to prosecuting serious crimes in first instance, … acted as a court
of appeal for the decisions of lower authorities”.46 In 1849, this council was replaced
by Majlis al-​Aḥkam, whose jurisdiction covered the entire country, but which for Cairo
acted as a court of first instance in serious criminal cases. Six years later, i.e., in 1855,
Cairo was declared a governorate and the Cairo Governorate, Muḥafaẓat Miṣr, began
to administer justice in the city. Concurrently, Mehmet ʿAli was issuing laws (qanouns)
for the purpose of administering justice in these councils,47 which kept proliferating until
1871 when there were 15 of them. As far as Cairo was concerned, in 1859 it had its own
council, Majlis Miṣr, which took over from the Governorate the task of adjudicating
criminal cases that took place in the city.48
From what has been said so far, some general features can be identified about how
the policing system had developed by mid-​century. This system had three components.
First, guardhouses were opened in all 50-​odd neighborhoods and police stations in all ten
districts. These police stations were manned by armed, disciplined soldiers who had rural
origins and who had received their training in the army. Second, a hierarchy of councils
worked in tandem with the numerous qadi courts throughout the city to adjudicate ser-
ious criminal cases (e.g., homicide, theft, abduction, fraud, sexual assault, etc.).49 Third,
these councils were primarily administrative. However, they also had judicial roles, and in
this respect they were governed by laws, regulations and decrees that Mehmet ʿAli and his
successors issued partly based on the Ottoman tradition of qanoun, and partly borrowed
from contemporary European legislations.
The result of this efficient policing system was threefold. Firstly, there was a noticeable
improvement in public security in the city. As early as 1838 an Egyptian student who had
been sent to acquire technical skills in Britain argued that “a Christian’s head is as safe
on his shoulders at Cairo as it is in London, and his purse safer in his pocket”.50 Similarly,
a British author writing in 1852 could make a credible case for how tranquil and secure
Egypt had become over the previous two decades:

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Khaled Fahmy

The state of Egypt presents a striking contrast to that of Turkey. Everyone

knows the good order and security which there prevail; it would be idle to speak
on this point … . In Egypt [Mehmet ʿAli] had compiled a code, had adapted
it to the manners of the people whom he governed, had established tribunals,
and no person could be executed in Egypt without a previous trial and sentence
passed according to certain prescribed rules, and confirmed by the Viceroy him-
self. The principles of the Hatti Sheriff (of Gulhané of 1839), which forbids any
functionary to put a person to death arbitrarily, existed in Egypt even before the
young sultan, who established it in Turkey, was born: in that … Egypt preceded
Constantinople.51

Secondly, there was a concurrent decrease in the use of violence both as legal punish-
ment and as a means of establishing proof during police investigations. Impalement
ceased to be practiced as a form of execution, and the last public impalement that the
city witnessed ostensibly took place in 1839.52 European travelers often remarked that
convicted thieves were less likely to have their hands chopped off according to “the
ancient law of Islamism”.53 This anecdotal remark is corroborated by Peters’s meticulous
research in judicial records and his conclusion that he “found no evidence that qiṣaṣ for
injuries was applied in practice”.54 Even public executions became rare. Writing in 1837,
John Bowring reported that “the numbers of execution have much diminished in Egypt”,
and added that the public executioner lamented it to him saying “I have little now to
do”.55 The British traveler quoted above remarked that there were no public executions
during the first three years of ʿAbbas’s reign (r. 1848–​1854).56 Peters also remarks that
due to tightened security and to new legislations that restricted the number of capital
offenses, “executions had become relatively rare” by the middle of the century.57 This
trend of moving away from physical punishment culminated in a decree passed in
1861 that replaced flogging by imprisonment. Regarding the use of violence in police
investigations, there, too, one can notice a shift away from beating to induce confession
and an increased reliance on circumstantial evidence, chief of which was forensic medi-
cine, to establish proof.58
Thirdly, this new policing system had far-​reaching implications that pertained to the
very notion of personhood and identity. It signaled the emergence of a fundamentally
new relationship between state and society. In fact, the new police system and the way
it was constructed as described above was instrumental in dismantling both state and
society and then constituting them anew, along new lines.
If taking apart the old policing system that had functioned for centuries by relying
on the agha, the wali and the muḥtasib was impressive, more impressive still was replacing
this trio with a new one of police stations, councils and laws. What this new trio indicated
was the emergence of a fundamentally new political system, what we now refer to as
the modern Egyptian state, a state that came to monopolize the means of violence.
These means of violence, as represented by the armed policemen in their ḍabṭiyyas and
karakuls, were bound by law (qanoons), while, at the same time, being the means of enfor-
cing the law.
Concurrently, Cairene society was also dismantled and reconstituted. As we saw, the
old neighborhoods, the haras, that used to be self-​contained and self-​policed, and whose
shaykhs were responsible for their residents and answerable to them, and who mediated
their relationship with the authorities, lost whatever independence they once had. The
neighborhood, the hara, and the newly formed district, the thumn, became administrative

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units governed and controlled by the now triumphant centralized state, and their shaykhs
became, in effect, employees of that state, their allegiance tied to the bureaucrats running
al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi, rather than to the residents of their respective neighborhoods.
Most seriously, the modern state now had the capacity to deal with these residents not as
members of collectives (the residential neighborhood or professional corporation), but
as individuals, anfar.
Three specific practices, all intricately linked to policing, enabled the modern state to
“see” Cairo’s residents individually rather than collectively. The first practice is connected
with public health and specifically with the effort to vaccinate children against smallpox.
Smallpox was a particularly devastating disease that killed between 50 and 60 thousand
children each year,59 and Clot Bey, Mehmet ʿAli’s chief medical advisor, was entrusted to
launch a vaccination campaign to bring this terrible disease under control. In Cairo, vac-
cination was to take place in the School of Midwives that was located within the Civilian
Hospital in Azbakiyya. District shaykhs (mashayikh al-​athman) were ordered to roam
their districts and act as town criers (al-​ta’keed bi al-​munadah fi’al-​shawari‘) summoning
children to the hospital for vaccination. However, given the deep hostility that parents
had to vaccination, thinking that it was one way to mark the bodies of their children for
conscription,60 they refused to hand them over, and their neighborhood shaykhs colluded
with them in hiding the children from the medical authorities. To get around this hurdle,
the neighborhood public clinics, which had been established in the mid-​1840s and which
used to gather information about the newborns from the local midwives, had to check
their registers and determine which children were due to be vaccinated based on their age.
The clinics would then deliver a list of names and addresses to their respective district
police officer (mu‘awin al-​thumn), who would then inform the neighborhood shaykh to
gather these children and deliver them to the vaccination center. Eventually, the district
police commissioner (ma’mour ḍabṭiyyat al-​thumn) oversaw the whole process and effect-
ively took over from the district shaykh the duty of identifying, arraigning and delivering
the children for vaccination.61 Crucially, by relying on ledgers kept in the district public
clinic rather than on local information guarded and controlled by the district shaykh, the
police were able to “see” these children individually rather than collectively.
The second practice that individuated people was the census. As mentioned earlier, this
was something that the French occupation authorities attempted to do. Half a century
later, and after a couple of false starts, a nation-​wide census was finally conducted in 1848
which managed to count individuals rather than households. As impressive as conducting
the census must have been, it represented but one component of a complex mechanism
of collecting vital statistics that entailed a tight control of midwives and undertakers
throughout all the ten districts of the city (and throughout the entire country for that
matter). The census, with its attendant textual practices of registering newborns and
issuing death certificates, allowed the nascent state to see Cairo’s residents as numbers in
a matrix rather than human beings embedded in their communities, be they the extended
family, the neighborhood, the Sufi order, or the trade corporation.62
The third practice that enabled the authorities to deal with the population individually
was in fact a bundle of practices all connected with legal identification. By stipulating
that people carry stamped “passports” (tadhakir murour) issued by al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi
when leaving or entering Cairo,63 that they have fixed legal domiciles, and that they carry
a stamped voucher (ḍaman) if they intended to engage in certain trades or to live in par-
ticular quarters,64 a new legal identity was forged, one that made it possible to police the
city in an individuated manner.

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Khaled Fahmy

The key example of these new textual devices that the nascent bureaucracy used to
police the population was the criminal record (sijillat al-​sawabiq). These were ledgers kept
in police stations and used to identify recidivist offenders. This was an important tech-
nique in policing as the laws made distinctions according to whether or not the defendant
was a recidivist offender, and the administrative/​judicial councils had to have this informa-
tion before passing sentences on convicted felons.65 What we are seeing here is yet another
example whereby the new bureaucracy managed to circumvent the neighborhoods and
their shaykhs altogether, to dispense with the communally embedded notions of identity
and reputation, and to use instead its own textual devices that effectively plucked the
individual from his/​her community and inserted them in the bureaucratic context of the
modern state.

Conclusion
The policing regime described above is the origin of the present-​day Cairo police. Since
it came of age in the middle of the nineteenth century till now, this regime witnessed
many changes in its nomenclature, uniforms and administrative structure. But its essen-
tial features have endured. The militarized nature of the Cairo police, the fact that they
are the police of the state not of the people, and that they have worked through disag-
gregating neighborhoods, and alienating people from their communities,–​are all charac-
teristic features that have proven resilient and difficult to change over a period spanning
more than a century and a half.
There is nothing that points more to the continuity and durability of the way Cairo
has been policed since the days of Lazughli than the fact that the headquarters of the
present-​day notorious National Security Agency (Qiṭa‘ al-​Amn al-​Waṭani) within the
Egyptian Ministry of Interior is widely known as “Lazughli”. In popular imagination,
the name is synonymous with the unimaginable torture that is believed to be practiced in
the building’s dungeons as a matter of course. However, the reason behind the appellation
is not any widespread recognition of the historical continuity linking the practices of
Mehmet ʿAli’s spy chief to those of the present-​day Ministry of Interior. Rather, the name
stuck simply because the building housing the headquarters of the National Security
Agency happens to overlook a square adorned with a statue of the original Lazughli.
Only the statue is not that of the original Lazughli, but of a look-​alike. The story goes
that 40 years after Lazughli’s death, one of his colleagues, who in 1869 had become the
Cairo Police Commissioner, happened to come across a water-​carrier (saqqa) with an
uncanny resemblance to the long-​dead Lazughli. So, the police commissioner ordered
him to report to the Ḍabṭiyya the following day where he was given honorific costumes,
a sword and a turban. They then had him photographed and a sculptor was ordered to
cast a statue based on the photograph.66 Lazughli, the infamous headquarters of torture
situated in the heart of Cairo, is named after a statue of the poor water-​carrier.

Notes
1 J. Abu-​Lughod, Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1971), p. 70.
2 A. Raymond, Cairo (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2000), p. 225.
3 Raymond, Cairo, p. 240. Abu-​Lughod estimates the population density to have been 50,000
per square mile, which she says was “moderately high for a preindustrial city”. Abu-​Lughod,
Cairo, p. 57.

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Policing Cairo in the Nineteenth Century

4 Raymond, Cairo, p. 239.

5 On the controversy over the exact number of these ḥārāt, see Ayman Fu’ād al-​Sayyid,
al-​Qāhira: Khiṭaṭuha wa-​Taṭawwuruha al-​‘Umrānī (Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Miṣriyya al-​‘Āmma lil-​
Kitāb, 2015), pp. 343–​344.
6 Raymond, Cairo, p. 227.
7 Raymond, Cairo, p. 229.
8 There were a total of 17 sharia courts in Cairo during the Ottoman period; see Samīr ‘Umar
Ibrāhīm, Al-​Ḥayāh al-​Ijtimā‘iyya fī Madīnat al-​Qāhira Khilāl al-​Niṣf al-​Awwal min al-​Qarn al-​
Tāsi‘ ‘Ashr (Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Miṣriyya al-​‘Āmma lil-​Kitāb, 1992), pp. 169–​170.
9 Raymond, Cairo, p. 231.
10 Raymond, Cairo, p. 230. For more on the muḥtasib during Ottoman times, see Abu-​Lughod,
Cairo, pp. 73–​ 75. For muḥtasib manuals advising him on how to monitor markets, see
Khaled Fahmy, In Quest of Justice: Islamic Law and Forensic Medicine in Modern Egypt
(Oakland: University of California Press, 2018), pp. 186–​193.
11 For the functioning of sharia courts during the Ottoman period, see Muḥammad Nūr Faraḥāt,
Al-​Qaḍā’ al-​Shar‘ī fī Misr fī al-​‘Aṣr al-​‘Uthmānī (Cairo: Al-​Hay’a al-​Miṣriyya al-​‘Āmma lil-​
Kitāb, 1988). For the functioning of the wālī’s dīwān, see James Baldwin, Islamic Law and Empire
in Ottoman Cairo (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2017). For the logic informing the
siyāsa and how its councils operated in tandem with sharia courts, see Fahmy, In Quest of
Justice, pp. 81–​131.
12 On the corporations, see Nabīl al-​Sayyid al-​Ṭūkhī, Ṭawā’if al-​Ḥiraf fī Madīnat al-​Qāhira fī
al-​Niṣf al-​Thānī min al-​Qarn al-​Tāsi‘ ‘Ashr (Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Miṣriyya al-​‘Āmma lil-​Kitāb,
2009).
13 Raymond, Cairo, p. 241.
14 For a recent account of Napoleon’s invasion and the resistance it faced, see Juan Cole, Napoleon’s
Egypt: Invading the Middle East (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007).
15 Raymond, Cairo, pp. 294–​295.
16 Raymond, Cairo, pp. 233, 295.
17 Al-​Sayyid, al-​Qāhira, p. 377. This security fear of the maṣāṭib pre-​dates the French. Ali Agha,
the aghā of the Janissaries in 1703, ordered them removed, fearing that they could be used as
barricades in times of public disturbances. Raymond, Cairo, p. 229.
18 ‘Abd al-​Raḥmān al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib al-​Athār fi’l-​Tarājim wa’l-​Akhbār, ed. and trans. Thomas
Philipp and Moshe Perlmann (Stuttgart: Franz Steiner, 1994), v. 3, p. 52. The page numbers
are to the first Būlāq edition of 1880, which is the pagination system that Philipp and Perlmann
maintained in their translation, and which is the pagination that is followed throughout below.
19 Raymond, Cairo, p. 295.
20 M. Jomard, Waṣf Madīnat al-​Qāhirah wa-​Qalʻat al-​Jabal, ed. and trans. Ayman Fu’ād al-​Sayyid
(Cairo: al-​Khānjī, 1988), p. 90.
21 For a lucid description of the state of lawlessness that Cairo witnessed in these years, see ʻAbd
al-​Raḥmān Zakī, Al-​Qāhirah: Tārīkhuhā wa-​Āthāruhā (Cairo: Dār al-​Ṭibā‘a al-​Jadīda, 1966),
pp. 274–​289.
22 Al-​Jabartī goes as far as to say that “the people wished for the Europeans of whatever nation-
ality to come and put an end to these bands, rootless without law or faith”. Al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib,
v. 4, p. 53.
23 For a short description of the events surrounding Mehmet Ali’s appointment to the gover-
norship of Egypt, see Khaled Fahmy, Mehmet Ali: From Ottoman Governor to Ruler of Egypt
(Oxford: Oneworld, 2009), pp. 10–​26.
24 Al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib, v. 4, p. 279.
25 Fahmy, Mehmet ʿAli, pp. 36–​38.
26 A. Sāmī, Taqwīm al-​Nīl (Cairo: Dār al-​Kutub, 1928), v. 2, p. 327. This system of undercover
spies roaming the streets of Cairo was still in place in the 1830s; see Muḥammad Fu’ād Shukrī,
Binā’ Dawla: Miṣr Muḥammad ‘Alī (Cairo: Lajnat al-​Ta’līf wa’l-​Tarjama wa’l-​Nashr, 1948),
p. 198.
27 Fahmy, Mehmet Ali, p. 51.
28 Al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib, v. 4, p. 222–​225.
29 Al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib, v. 4, p. 250.
30 Al-​Jabartī, ‘Ajā’ib, v. 4, pp. 304–​305.

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31 For the history of conscription in Mehmet Ali’s army, see Khaled Fahmy, All the Pasha’s
Men: Mehmet Ali, His Army and the Making of Modern Egypt (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997).
32 For details on this rebellion, see Fahmy, All the Pasha’s Men, p. 95.
33 For conscripting the peasants and training them, see Fahmy, All the Pasha’s Men, pp. 76–​159.
34 Raymond says that the ḍabṭiyya was founded in 1834–​1835: Raymond, Cairo, p. 301. ‘Abd
al-​Wahhāb Bakr quotes the 1838 decree re-​organizing al-​Dīwān al-​Khidīwī mentioned below
as proof that the ḍabṭiyya was established in that year: ‘Abd al-​Wahhāb Bakr al-​Būlīs al-​
Miṣri: Madkhal li-​Tārīkh al-​Idāra al-​Miṣriyya, 1805–​1922 (Cairo: Dār al-​Kutub wa’l-​Wathā’iq
al-​Qawmiyya, 2016), p. 23n1. On his part, Sāmī says that the ḍabṭiyya was founded in 1258 AH /​
1842 CE: Sāmī, Taqwīm al-​Nīl, v. 516. Although Lane does not mention the ḍabṭiyya by name,
he describes police reform in some detail: Edward William Lane, An Account of the Manners and
Customs of the Modern Egyptians (London: Nattali and Bond, 1836), p. 151. But Abu-​Lughod
rightly points out that Lane’s book, although published in 1836, was based on travels he did in
the previous decade: Abu-​Lughod, Cairo, p.88n18.
35 Abu-​Lughod, Cairo, p. 88.
36 ‘A. Mubārak, al-​Khiṭaṭ al-​Tawfīqiyya al-​Jadīda (Cairo: Būlāq, 1888), v. 1, p. 86.
37 J. Bowring, Report on Egypt and Candia (London: H. M. Stationery Office, 1840), p. 121.
Bowring also says that “over two shaykh tumns is a shaykh rubh [sic.]”. Bakr also refers to these
shaykhs of rub‘s, i.e., shaykhs of quarters: Bakr, al-​Būlīs al-​Miṣri, p. 21. However, I have not
come across any reference to these shaykhs of quarters in the Egyptian National Archives.
38 Bowring, Report, p. 121.
39 Lane, Manners, p. 151.
40 A.F. Zaghlūl, al-​Muḥāmāh (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat al-​Maʻārif, 1900), app. pp. 4–​5. See also Ḥasan
‘Abd al-​Wahhāb, Takhṭīṭ al-​Qāhira wa Tanẓīmuha (Cairo: Dār al-​Nashr lil-​Jāmi‘āt al-​Miṣriyya,
1957), pp. 8–​9, where he refers to an 1830 ordinance published in the government bulletin,
al-​Waqā’i‘ al-​Miṣriyya, stating that the agent of police commissioner (referred to as “Amīrālāy
al-​Maḥrūsa”) is to take over from the muḥtasib the task of ensuring that residents and
shopkeepers sprinkled the areas in front of their houses/​shops. He would punish those who
threw garbage in the street by administering a light beating.
41 Abu-​Lughod, Cairo, p. 88.
42 There is considerable disagreement among scholars about when these gates were finally
removed. ‘Abd al-​Wahhāb says that this happened in the beginning of the nineteenth cen-
tury: ‘Abd al-​Wahhāb, Takhṭīṭ al-​Qāhira, p. 36; while Abu-​Lughod says that “during the first
few decades of Muhammad Ali’s rule … the older gates to the various streets had been replaced
and private watchmen stood guard over their entrances”: Abu-​Lughod, Cairo, p. 87. However,
Thomas Legh, who visited Cairo in 1812, said that it was the Pasha’s Albanian troops, not
private watchmen, who guarded the gates: Thomas Legh, Narrative of a Journey in Egypt and
the Country beyond the Cataracts (Philadelphia: M. Thomas, 1817), pp. 43–​44. Finally, the
1847 edition of Wilkinson’s Handbook says that these gates were still in existence: Gardner
Wilkinson, Handbook for Travellers in Egypt (London: J. Murray, 1847), p. 145.
43 Lane, Manners, pp. 151–​152.
44 R. Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order (Leiden: Brill, 2020), pp. 90–​91; For the logic of coup-
ling sharia with siyāsa in adjudicating serious crime, see Fahmy, In Quest of Justice, pp. 92–​128.
45 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, pp. 40–​60.
46 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, p. 45.
47 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, pp. 107–​127.
48 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, pp. 94–​95.
49 For examples of these cases, see Khaled Fahmy, “The police and the people in nineteenth-​
century Egypt”, Die Welt des Islams, v. 39 (1999), pp. 340–​377.
50 Ḥ. al-​Basyūnī, Egypt Under Muḥammad Aly Basha (London: Smith, Elder & Co., 1838), 10.
51 Anon., The Egyptian Railway (London: Hope & Co., 1852), pp. 36–​37.
52 M. Gisquet, L’Egypte, les turcs et les arabes (Paris: Amyot, 1848), v. 2, p. 132.
53 A. A. Paton, History of the Egyptian Revolution (London: Trubner, 1863), v. 2, p. 264.
54 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, p. 54.
55 Bowring, Report on Egypt and Candia, p. 123.
56 Anon., The Egyptian Railway, p. 33.

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57 Peters, Shari‘a, Justice and Legal Order, p. 245.

58 Fahmy, In Quest of Justice, p. 226–​270.
59 A. B. Clot Bey, Mémoires (Cairo 1949), p. 157.
60 La.V. Kuhnke, Lives at Risk: Public Health in Nineteenth Century Egypt (Berkeley: University
of California Press, 1990), p. 116.
61 For more on this campaign, see Khaled Fahmy, “Medicine and public health in the nineteenth
century”, in Beth Baron and Jeffrey Culang, eds., The Oxford Handbook of Modern Egyptian
History (Oxford: Oxford University Press, forthcoming).
62 For evidence of the confidence with which the Cairo health authorities could read the city via
its vital statistics, see Fahmy, In Quest of Justice, pp. 173–​177.
63 Sāmī, Taqwīm al-​Nīl, v. 2, p. 354, order dated 23 Rabī‘ I 1245 AH /​22 September 1829 CE. See
also Abd al-​Wahhāb, Takhṭīṭ al-​Qāhira, pp. 37–​38.
64 For more on these practices, see Fahmy, In Quest of Justice, pp.100–​103.
65 For more details on how these records worked, see Fahmy, In Quest of Justice, pp. 115–​116.
66 Sāmī, Taqwīm al-​Nīl, v. 2, p. 327.

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Muḥammad ʻAlī. Cairo: Lajnat al-​Ta’līf wa’l-​Tarjama wa’l-​Nashr.
Ṭūkhī, N.S. (2009). Ṭawā’if al-​Ḥiraf Fī Madīnat al-​Qāhira Fī al-​Niṣf al-​Thānī Min al-​Qarn al-​Tāsi‘
‘Ashr. Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Miṣriyya al-​‘Āmma lil-​Kitāb.
Wilkinson, G. (1847). Handbook for Travellers in Egypt. London: J. Murray.
Zaghlūl, A.F. (1900). al-​Muḥāmāh. Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Al-​Maʻārif.
Zakī, ʻA.R. (1966). Al-​Qāhirah: Tārīkhuhā Wa-​Āthāruhā. Cairo: Dār al-​Ṭibā‘a al-​Jadīda.

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8
KHEDIVIAL CAIRO
The Genesis of the Modern City and the
Prospects of its Downtown

Soheir Hawas

Downtown Cairo has always been considered one of the most beautiful districts of
the city. In 2010, the National Organization for Urban Harmony (NOUH) officially
designated the area a heritage district and named it “Khedivial Cairo”,1 then being
approved by the Supreme Council for Planning and Urban Development in accordance
with the Egyptian “Construction” law.2 This registration is an acknowledgement and a
reconsideration of its long-​forgotten historical, architectural, urban and economic heri-
tage value (Figure 8.1).
Introducing the name can be attributed to the publication of the Khedivial Cairo
Encyclopedia in 2002,3 which documented the area extending from the Old city to the
Nile banks and which included the district of Ismaʿilia built by Khedive Ismaʿil, and
the Tawfiqiya district, built by his son Khedive Tawfiq as a northern urban extension
of Ismaʿilia, in addition to many important and distinguished buildings constructed
during the time of Khedive ʿAbbas Helmy II, the third and last ruler to govern Egypt as
Khedive. Thus, the neighborhood is attributed to three rulers of the ʿAlawite family who
carried the title “Khedive”,4 an Ottoman title which in Persian means “prince”.
Khedivial Cairo with its European character has been viewed by some as a model
of refined urbanism which is rich in architectural features. Its design broke free from
the traditional pattern of the old city with its intertwined organic urban fabric locked
inside walls bearing the features of the Middle Ages. The contrast between the old and
new districts in terms of their social infrastructure and urban morphology became too
obvious to residents of both areas.

Early Attempts at Modernizing Cairo

Prior to the establishment of Khedivial Cairo, Egypt had witnessed a series of historical
events that paved the way for the Egyptians’ welcoming of modern progressive ideas. The
first of those events was the arrival of the French Campaign in 1798 with its strong aspir-
ation to explore the world described in the writings of the travelers and orientalists who
had been flocking to Egypt since the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. Their desire to
get to know Egyptian society had, in turn, a remarkable cultural impact on Egypt and the
Egyptians, as the campaign became the first window through which life in the West was

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-9 121

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Soheir Hawas

Figure 8.1 “Khedivial Cairo” Map 1 as set by the National Organization for Urban Harmony
(NOUH) in conjunction with UNESCO and the Supreme Council of Antiquities, and approved
by the Supreme Council for Urban Planning and Development in 2010.
(Adapted by author.)

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

introduced to the Egyptians and vice versa. During this campaign and with the beginning
of the nineteenth century a management plan of the city was drawn with the purpose of
dividing Cairo into eight regions to facilitate its administrative and security management.
The gates securing the city were removed, and a straight wide road aligned with trees on
both sides reaching to Bulaq was opened (Bulaq had been Cairo’s long-​needed first port
since the fifteenth century). Also, during this period, the draining of Birkat al-​Azbakeya
(Azbakeya pond) began, in addition to the preparation of roads to expedite movement
within the city together with rectifying the already existing roads to meet the emerging
and increasing needs.5

The Earliest Period under Mohamed ʿAli Pasha and Said Pasha
With the beginning of Mohamed ʿAli’s reign in 1805, following the departure of the
French campaign in 1801, he took the first steps towards developing and modernizing
the city through upgrading its old districts, introducing new architectural patterns and
styles, and the implementation of construction works in various fields. He also took the
necessary measures that would guarantee smoother traffic movement and transportation
across Cairo’s narrow alleyways, by having all the masatib (built-​in benches) in front of
the shops, which added to the tightness of the lanes, removed. He also resorted to expro-
priating the facilities that obstructed the passage of vehicles.
In 1844 Mohamed ʿAli established Majlis Tandhim al Mahrousa, a regulatory Board
that had the purpose of regulating Cairo affairs. Mohamed ʿAli’s vision for modernizing
Egypt in general, and Cairo in particular, led to an expansion of mega projects and to the
appearance of the first generation of foreign architects, engineers and planners, some of
whom had come to Egypt as part of Napoleon’s Campaign, and some were requested to
return after the end of the French Campaign.
As mentioned earlier, Mohamed ʿAli’s era witnessed a huge modernization movement
and milestones of development as a result of the construction of dams, which led to
stabilizing the Nile and the beginning of development in the north and west. When
Muhamed Saʿid Pasha took office in 1845 he signed a contract introducing railways to
Egypt, something that led to a huge civilization shift in all areas reached by the railway.
This was initiated by the appearance of modern-​style railway stations, which have later
become part of Egypt’s national cultural heritage.

The Reign of Khedive Ismaʿil

Ismaʿil’s vision was to make Cairo, the capital and the seat of his throne, the most
beautiful of the world cities and to transform it from being a small city into one that
is much wider and far more developed, with a reliable infrastructure of services that
would qualify it to keep pace with modern development. Early in the reign of Khedive
Isma’il, he ordered the carving out of new, long straight roads through the old city, such
as the road connecting Al-​Azbakeya and the Citadel (Mohamed ʿAli Street, known today
as Al-​Qalʿa Street), and the new al-​Sekka al-​Gadida road connecting al-​Moski and the
old eastern districts. Thus, the traditional concepts and principles of the old city fused
with the Western modernity of the new city construction in such a way that proves the
possibility of fusing two different –​and even conflicting –​urban development planning
patterns. However, the concentration of the aristocrats in Ismaʿilia district and the

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growing settlement of the foreign communities at the beginning of the twentieth century
with their divergent cultures, their arrogant attitude and their endless aspirations –​all led
to a wider social disparity in Cairene society.6
The new Ismaʿilia district was established in a way that accomplished the dream
Ismaʿil had of Cairo ever since he took office. It projected the wish that he delivered
to Cairo planners to include some of the features of Paris, the city where he spent
some time during his youth and which he loved and was deeply impacted by its
landmarks. The result was a Cairo that looked somewhat like Paris, a similarity which
drove many historians to call it “Paris of the East”. Ismaʿil resorted to establishing
strong cultural connection between Egypt and France, and asked Napoleon III to
connect him to the planner and the mayor of Paris, Haussmann, so as to have his
new city established according to the planning concepts he followed in changing Paris
into a modern city. He also engaged architects from France, Italy, Austria and other
European countries in designing the palaces and the different kinds of public and gov-
ernmental buildings applying the same classical Western styles of the time, a step which
caused the Westernization and modernization of the Egyptian city, or the so-​called the
Haussmannization of Cairo (Figure 8.2).
Thus Ismaʿilia with its urban and architectural content stood for Khedive Ismaʿil’s
interest in modernity, technological development and fine culture. This is clearly due
to his interest in planning and building facilities with a fine cultural nature, like the

Figure 8.2 “Khedivial Cairo” showing both both Ismailia and Tawfiqiya districts.

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

Khedivial Opera House, Dar al Athar al ʿArabeya (House of Arab Antiquities) and Dar
al Kutub (the National Library of Egypt) etc. His project also included a program for
beautifying the big squares through erecting bronze statues, like those of Ibrahim Pasha’s
on horseback and the statue of Soliman Pasha. The program also included constructing
some garden-​like streets that served as parks full of huge trees, like Shubra and Haram
(Pyramids) Streets. As for Muhamed ʿAli and Clot Bey Streets, they were distinguished
by the bawaki (arcades) that covered the sidewalks.

Ismaʿilia and Tawfiqiya: the Modern Districts Constructed in the

19th Century under the Khedives
The Ismaʿilia district was planned in the second half of the 19th century at Ismaʿil Pasha’s
request after he took office in 1863. Cairo as was handed to him was just a small city
extending from the foot of Moqattam and al Qalʿa (the Citadel), ending at ʿAtaba square
in the west with a series of graveyards, ruins, swamps and hills, reaching to the River Nile.
The Nile did not run the same course as it does today, but it main branch fronted Giza,
Dokki, Bulaq al Dakrour and Imbaba. Its other branch which Cairo overlooked was a
narrow canal with low tide most of the year.
Moreover, at that time Cairo did not have a source of portable running water, as the
other Nile branch was the only source from which the Saqqas (water carriers) carried
water to the city. There was no public sewage system either, and the tanks would overflow
during the flooding season of the Nile, filling the city with mosquitos. This River Nile
diversion project began the same year that the planning of Cairo commenced. The streets
were not lit with public lamps and substantial public service buildings did not exist. And
though there were certain building types in the old city like the Sabils or water fountains
and the Kottabs or the Quranic schools that taught reading and writing though the reci-
tation of the Quran and Bimaristans, small hospitals that served the city well, Ismaʿil’s
objective was to provide the new city with a far more advanced and sophisticated service
infrastructure.
The preparation, designing and implementation of Ismaʿilia took several years and
was considered one of the most important mega projects, judging by the standards and
capabilities of that age. The planning followed a comprehensive program based on the
following projects:7

First: The diversion of the old course of the Nile, which used to run from Bulaq al
Dakrour along Dokki and Imbaba, to the current course known today resulted in
filling up the old one to be replaced later by Orman park, Giza Zoo, Cairo university,
in addition to the entire areas of Dokki, ʿAgouza, Mohandessin, Imbaba and Bein al
Sarayat. This Nile diversion project, which began in the late 1863, created the current
Nile Corniche .
Second: The urban development of Cairo relied on eradicating many agricultural fields
and a series of the northern hills, and the extracted earth was used to fill many nearby
ponds and swamps. Meanwhile, the area was re-​planned, giving birth to new districts
like Faggala, Sakakini and Mahatta Square, which later became the northern entrance
to Cairo and where the railway station was constructed, in addition to constructing
Shubra Street. Later, when Kobri el Leimoon railway line was constructed between
1889 and 1890, new districts like Zeitoon and Matariya grew, expanding Cairo even
more, while all being connected to Mahatta Square. Again, with the introduction of

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the tramway in 1896, this urban expansion reoccurred as a result, since it connected
ʿAtaba to ʿAbbasiyya, and Shubra to Cairo in 1903. Al Khaleeg al Masri canal was
also filled up to become the Khaleeg Street –​today Port Saʿid Street –​where the
tramway was extended so as to connect al Dhaher to Sayeda Zeinab. Such urban
expansion led to the flourishing of the city center “Ismaʿilia” and the appearance of
functionally advanced administrative, commercial and financial buildings. It also gave
birth to the ministries and governmental buildings at the south-​east of Qasr el ʿAiny
Street, and to what is known today as the Ministries Quarters.
Third: The five-​acre ʿAbdin Palace with its vast gardens was established on the place of
the house of Abdin Bey’s, one of the Turkish princes who held the position of Prince
of the Sultani Brigade. The house overlooked the Faraʿin Pond, which was surrounded
by a series of hills, sand dunes, ponds and swamps. This came to replace the long-​
standing seat of the ruler, Jawhara palace (on top of the hill at Salah Addin’s Citadel).
The replacement was symbolic of the descent of the government to the center of the
city, that is, to the level of the people. Once Khedive Ismaʿil purchased the house,
he dispossessed the surrounding buildings and paths in an area of about 24 acres,
and started the implementation of the project of filling up the swamps and ponds,
removing the hills in the site. In front of the palace a large square was planned with
main streets leading to it, in such a way that the ʿAbdin area became one of the most
beautiful districts and the worthiest of the seat of the government. The palace was
designed by the French architect Leon Rousseau and was inaugurated in 1872, having
taken nine years to construct. The palace was distinguished by its neoclassic architec-
ture based on the principles of classicism of symmetry and axiality (axial symmetry),
as well as the features of the neo-​baroque and art nouveau styles. The designs have
been improved, altered and replaced through the residency periods of six of Egypt’s
rulers, the first of whom being Khedive Ismaʿil (1874–​1879), and the last being King
Farouk I (1936–​1952). One of the most important modifications introduced to the
palace was King Foủad I’s addition of the Islamic style heavily ornamented Throne
Hall, as well as the winter garden. Later, in 1928, the Royal Guard quarters were
added at the north side of ʿAbdin Square, which is now Cairo Governorate building.
Fourth: The Azbakeya district was planned to included ʿAtaba, Opera and Khazindar
Squares, in addition to Clot Bey and Ibrahim Pasha Streets. It also included
transforming the large pond and the swamps into a public park that served as an outlet
for Cairo residents and as a recreational area of a special nature.
Fifth: The eastern shore of the Nile connected the old historic city and new Cairo
(Ismaʿilia), after the course of the Nile was diverted. This extended from the streets
today known as ʿEmad Eddin-​Mohamed Farid, al Malika (Ramses) and Mirette
Pasha. The project included the entire area planned to become Ismaʿilia, Bab Al-​louq,
Dawawin (known today as the Ministries Quarters), Howayati, Insha, Munira (the
residence of the Khedive’s mother) and Ismaʿilia Square. These streets were paved,
sidewalks were built, garden-​spraying water pipes were supplied, and they were lit with
gas lamps.
Sixth: The diversion of the course of the Nile on the western side created the main Giza
Street. The project included constructing a huge park (al Orman) along the lines of
the Bois de Boulogne in Paris. Al Orman included a zoo and the Saray of Giza. The
major road later with a tram was constructed to the Giza pyramids, which is not al
Haram Street.

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

Seventh: Al Jazeera (currently the island of Zamalek) was created as a consequence of

diverging the Nile course and the subsequent accumulation of silt and sand in the nor-
thern part of the island. It became a summer resort for the Cirenes who started using
the Zamalek stalls (the name it was later given). No construction of buildings was
allowed in Zamalek, which turned into a series of public parks. It was also designed to
have a number of streets that still exit to this day, like al Jazeera, al Gabalaya and the
Nile Streets. These were connected to the eastern shore via Qasr al Nil Bridge, and to
the western shore via al-​Engeleez Bridge (Badiʿa Bridge). Saray al Jazeera, or Ismaʿil
Palace, hosted some of the royals who travelled to participate in the ceremonies for the
opening of the Suez Canal. The palace was taken over by the government and made
into a five-​star hotel in the 1960s.
Eighth: The Tawfiqiya district was established following the model of Ismaʿilia during the
reign of Khedive Tawfiq, whose interest in construction was no less than his father’s.
It was he who assigned engineer ʿAli Mubarak to supervise the process of planning
and constructing the new district as a northern extension to the city. His interest in
urbanization culminated in assigning Mubarak to complete the famous encyclopedia,
“Al Khetat al Tawfiqiya”.

The Ismaʿilia and tawfiqiya districts were separated by a wide straight street, later named
“Foủad I Street” and later still renamed “26 July Street”, which extends from the loca-
tion of Azbakeya garden in the east to the Nile River in the west. Also two important
streets were constructed in Ismaʿilia to be the most important movement axes in the new
district, which are ʿEmad Addin Street and Soliman Pasha Street, known today as Talʿat
Harb Pasha Street. In the center of this district lies Tawfiqiya Square, later named ʿOrabi
Square, which is connected to al-​Alfi Street, one of the most famous streets in Tawfiqiya
due to the presence of “al-​Alfy Bey” palace, which used to overlook Azbakeya garden,
and which was Napoleon Bonaparte’s8 residence, and later Kleber’s, his deputy, who was
assassinated in its garden.

The Features of Khedivial Cairo

Since the Islamic conquest of Cairo, consecutive historical layers of the city have been
formulating, starting with Fustat, followed by al ʿAskar, al Qatả̉ʿ then the Fatamid al
Qahirah. Cairo as we know it today is such an embodiment of the concept of neighboring
historical layers so that a Cairo map looks like an open book of urban history that tells of
the diversity of the urban fabric of each layer. Such diversity often reflects the planning
and urban development concepts of each age, the different needs of different communi-
ties, and the different technologies available at different eras.
Thus, the consecutive construction stages of Khedivial Cairo were, in a way, a further
development of the Egyptian culture itself. The new city planning was by no means an
act of mere division and distribution of land, but was rather a reflection of an Egypt that
was attempting to keep pace with the world’s technological and economic achievements,
in addition to its being a sign of the political will to move forward towards modernity. In
short, the emergence of Khedivial Cairo was typically symbolic of the emergence of the
“modern” city in Egypt.
The 700-​acre Khedivial Cairo, whose location granted it an extended Nile front, had
its unique architectural and urban characteristics. Most of its first-​stage buildings were

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Soheir Hawas

Figure 8.3 The contrast between the organic urban fabric of Medieval Cairo and the radial
orthogonal fabric of Khedivial Cairo.

palaces surrounded with vast gardens, all neighboring ʿAbdin palace, which was built by
Khedive Ismaʿil and which was his, and later his sons’, residence. Later still, multiple-​
storey buildings started to replace many of those palaces. Heavy construction of huge
multiple-​storey buildings started to take place. Some of these buildings had several

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

entrances from more than one street, and some were eight or more floors high, thanks to
the electric elevators that were in use by then. These buildings stood close to each other,
typical of the urban linear fabric of the city plan.
It is worth mentioning here that very few of the buildings in today’s Khedivial
Cairo, like ʿAbdin palace for example, belong to Ismaʿil’s age. The urban development
works continued to be carried out following the framework of the original plan and its
regulations until it was fully accomplished in the first half of the twentieth century. The
vacant land in the areas separating modern Khedivial Cairo from Old Historical Cairo,
which is between ʿAbdin, Azbakeya and Bulaq on one end, and the Nile on the other,
became a strong magnet for real-​estate projects.
Thus Khedivial Cairo became the main business hub and the most flourishing area
specially when the commercial and economic center moved from Moski and Clot Bey
Streets to downtown in the streets of Foủad I (today’s 26 July Street), ʿAdly Pasha, Sherif
Pasha, ʿAbdul Khaliq Tharwat Pasha, ʿEmad adDeen, Qasr al Nil and many others,
turning them into the city’s most prominent streets.

The Architectural Character of Khedivial Cairo

Khedivial Cairo buildings are characterized by their European classical style, especially
the elements of Haussmann’s Paris. This is particularly seen in the handling of the skyline
resulting from the sloping rooftops. It can also be seen in the adjacent belt of balconies
at the first floor above the mezzanine, last and ground floors, with three or four floors in
between having either window openings or separate individual balconies. The ground
floor is used for commercial purposes, and it is topped with a mezzanine floor allocated
for service purposes.
The European architectural influence became quite strong with the beginning of
Ismaʿil’s project and spread even wider during the period of the British occupation.
Encouraged by the capital holders, the architects took to imitating the European histor-
ical styles, sometimes even applying various styles in the same building, disregarding

Figure 8.4 The façades of some buildings in Khedivial Cairo.

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their time differences when they were originally used in Europe. This style mix came to be
termed by some as a unique “eclecticism”.9
Thus a variety of styles were used in many buildings: some applied a Renaissance style,
others employed a baroque style, with a dome on top of the buildings’ corner. Also used
were art nouveau, with its sculptured ornaments, and Gothic, which appeared in some of
the apartment buildings in Huda Shaʿrawi Street.
Moreover, these styles were sometimes mixed with some ancient Egyptian architec-
tural ornamental motifs. An example of these is the Sphinx head on the dome of the
building No 56 Ramses. In addition, the art deco style was widespread in the area at
the beginning of the twentieth century, which can be seen in apartment buildings No 17
and 22, Qasr al Nil Street, and in some buildings in Mirette Pasha Street. Adaptation
to the environmental and climate requirements was also observed, as can be seen in the
presence of windows in all building façades. One can safely say that this is the era when
the features of Khedivial Cairo had matured.
The architectural plan of the buildings developed and was distinguished by its large
areas, so that one floor accommodated a number of large residential apartments, and the
number of rooms in some reached more than ten rooms. They were also characterized
by the height of the ceiling, reaching four and a half meters and sometimes more for
one floor.
The entrances to most buildings were decorated with artwork such as murals,
sculptures or fountains. The area of some of these buildings is so large that they are
designed in the form of two or more blocks, each of which has a separate entrance that
leads to a number of elevators, and always the entrance door and elevators are designed
in the same style of the building. Each residential unit has a service entrance connected
to a staircase in the inner court. Most of the service units in the apartments overlook
these inner courts. Also, the entrance hall of the unit has a window overlooking the
inner court so that it helps air movement inside the apartment for better ventilation and
thermal comfort. Despite applying such a variety of European architectural styles in the
building façades, no discrepancy in the design concept of the architectural plans could
be sensed.
The European architectural character of Khedivial Cairo was the product and the fruit
of the innovations of some of the most creative architects like Antonio Lasciac, Mario
Rossi, Ernesto Verrucci, Pietro Avoscani, Leon Rousseau from Italy, Marcel Dourgnon
and Leo Nafilyan from France, and Oscar Horowitz and Eduard Matasek from Austria,
to name just a few. It can be asserted that since the beginning of the Mohamed ʿAli era in
the early 19th century till the end of the British occupation of Egypt in 1952, the compos-
ition of Egyptian architecture was mainly undertaken by foreign architects. This is clearly
attributed to the absence of Egyptian architectural education and, naturally, of Egyptian
architects. Only during the later years of the 19th century and the first decade of the
20th century did Egyptian architects start to take part in such works. Mahmoud Hussein
Pasha Fahmy and his son Mostafa Pasha Fahmy were among the first who tried to coun-
teract the heavy European influence by laying the basis for a new architectural style that
carries elements of a neo-​Islamic Renaissance style. Later Egyptian architects took over
the work and added buildings that were quite harmonious with the architectural char-
acter of the region. Some of the most prominent examples include the architects Abu
Bakr Khairat, Mahmoud Riad, Hassan Shafʿi, Mostafa Shafʿi, ʿAli Labib Gabr, Sherif
Noʿman and Sayed Kareem.

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The Urban Character of Khedivial Cairo

Khedivial Cairo was characterized by its easily distinguishable urban character due to
its clear architectural and urban fabric, in addition to the style of its mobility network,
activities and facilities. The urban fabric of Khedivial Cairo was different from the con-
ventional intertwined organic fabric of Cairo’s earlier historical layers. The recent one
was orthogonal in some parts, and radial in others so that the straight streets would per-
pendicularly intersect at the corners, or would branch out of the squares and roundabouts
in different directions. Also different measurements for the buildings, roads and urban
spaces were used, in addition to the appearance of a wider variety of uses, like commer-
cial, administrative, economic and entertainment uses.
The old and new diversity of the urban fabric is in itself a language whose content can
be read on a map that simply illustrates the nature of the communities that created their
own urban environment in a way that suits both their needs and their customs. It also
reflects the technology of the era and the methods of mobility that individuals used for
their movement. Such urban fabric is also a reflection of the era’s construction laws, the
sizes of its buildings, the division of land etc.
The preparation of the urban environment to receive a new movement and mobility
technology generally required an understanding of that technology, an ability to foresee
its development, its impact on society and that society’s reaction to it. In this sense, the
streets of Khedivial Cairo were appropriate for cars and other forms of transporta-
tion due to their modern planning that met the requirements of the automobiles which
reached Egypt by the end of the 19th century (Figure 8.5).
The bridges connecting the west to the east bank of the Nile had a remarkably positive
influence on the mobility between different districts, which, in turn, facilitated the expan-
sion of trade and industry as a result of the ease with which the required material was
transported across long distances. That was especially true with the introduction of the
railway, which connected the different parts of Egypt and which led to the appearance of
a new architectural pattern in all governorates, namely the railway stations with their spe-
cial architectural styles and which later became part of Egypt’s national cultural heritage.
The design of the two new districts was a huge cultural leap due to the network of
roads and their long and wide straight streets (many were 2 km or more long, and 20
meters wide), with pavements on both sides to facilitate pedestrians’ mobility. Also the
presence of roundabouts leading to different directions allowed the cars to easily turn
around and to change direction. That was how the movement network matched the
development of mobility, which was a far cry from the camels, mules and monkeys which
were used for transportation, or the carts10 which had been in service as means of mass
transportation in the old city. With the modern planning the city later readily welcomed
the automobile, which accelerated movement, and the tram when it first appeared as a
means of mass transportation (Figure 8.6).
The new tram lines were introduced to the city in 1896, which led to its prosperity and
had a huge impact on connecting it to different suburban districts. It also led to accel-
erating the pace of life inside the Egyptian society and to an exposure to the life of the
Western societies
When the tram first operated in Cairo in 1896, it required radical modification of the
city roads by adding a non-​prominent iron rail as its track. This required dividing the
streets it passed through into three sections: the middle was for the rails with the electri-
city cables above them, in addition to building parallel platforms/​piers for the waiting

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Figure 8.5 The movement network in Khedivial Cairo.

passengers. Special tram carriages were assigned for women to cope with the traditions
of Egyptian society. In fact, this new transportation method altered the long-​established
rules of prohibiting women from going to faraway places alone.
This new means of transportation did have a direct impact on the rhythm of the indi-
viduals’ everyday life, and on the youth’s level of freedom from their parents’ excessive
control. However, despite its many upsides, it caused so many problems and numerous
accidents that some came to call it al wahsh in the streets of al Mahrousa (the monster in
Cairo streets).
The two districts were characterized by their pedestrians’ paths, which matched the
main and the secondary roads network. This could be seen in the wide sidewalks which
followed the proper technical specifications in terms of height and material (like using
basalt stone rotors). Sometimes the sidewalks were covered by arcades, as in Muhamed
ʿAli and Clot Bey Streets, and as in Behler passageway as well. In some places these
paths were separated from the road network in the form of zigzag pedestrian paths pene-
trating the interstitial spaces and the huge building blocks opening to two, three or four

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

Figure 8.6 Vehicular roads and pedestrian paths in Khedivial Cairo.

streets and having more than one entrance for each apartment building. Such paths
which intersected with the buildings formed an integral part of the urban fabric of the
area and allowed the establishment of commercial activities and shopping lanes, which
accounts for the presence of many small shops, entertainment places like cafes, and so
on. Moreover, these paths were characterized by their proper ventilation and shading as
a means of encouraging pedestrians’ movement. Also proper human scale were observed
as an attraction to pedestrians and a safeguard against the threats of the streets and the
automobiles.
Most streets and squares in Khedivial Cairo carried the names of political, economic
and artistic public figures. For example some bore the names of former prime ministers
from the period like ʿAbdul Khaliq Tharwat Pasha, ʿAdly Yakan Pasha, Mohamed
Mahmoud Pasha, Sherif Pasha Sabry, the two actors Naguib al Rihany and ‘Ali al
Kassar, the two political leaders Mostafa Kamel and Mohamed Farid, the archaeologists
Maspero and Mariette and the and astronomer al Falaki Pasha. The two French founders
of the Medical school and the Military school respectively “Clot Bey” and “Soliman
Pasha” also had streets named after them, but the latter’s name was removed from that

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exceptionally lively street and replaced with that of the prominent Egyptian economist
Talʿat Harb Pasha after 1952.
Bronze sculptures of public figures were placed in the middle of the city squares as an
embodiment of such national symbols and meanings. Some of these statues were built
with the contribution and donations of the Egyptian people, as in the case of “Mahmoud
Mokhtar’s” Timthal Nahdit Misr (Egypt’s Renaissance Statue), which was displayed in
May 1928, but which was moved to Giza Zoo Square in 1956 to be replaced by a Ramses
II statue. Another example is the “Mostafa Kamel” statue, which was stored for a long
time before it was erected in the middle of Soares Square, which now bore his name at the
intersection of Qasr al-​Nil and Mohamed Farid Streets.

Haỷat al-Baladeya and Maslahet al-​Tandhim:

the Municipal Bodies and their Functions
Setting building codes, laws and regulations was not an easy task as changing or
developing the old concepts of the city construction required many attempts. When he
first started his project of modernizing Egypt, Muhamed ʿAli wanted to have laws and
regulations that equally applied to both types of urbanization, the old and the new. In
1844 Majlis Tandhim al Mahrousa produced a Master Plan for Cairo which included all
buildings and urban open spaces.
The first step to be taken was the removal of the gate at Bab al Hadid (the northern
border of the city). It is worth mentioning that the members of the council responsible for
studying, planning and setting urban regulations were not only architects and planners
but the committee included as well people like the French Doctor Antoine Clot Bey. One
of the objectives of this council was to set a unified plan and survey system for the city,
in addition to setting the norms, standards and regulations governing the construction
work. However, the Egyptian administrative board was later replaced by a group of for-
eign experts.
In 1867, a Khedivial decree assigned the management of the city to the Department
of Interior Affairs. However, Khedive Isma’il’s planner ʿAli Mubarak later tried to alter
the decree, and in 1879 the regulatory department was placed under the Public Works
Ministry (Wezaret al-​Ashghal al-​ʿUmoumeya). In the early 20th century, the department
consisted of the following units: the Planning administration, the Roads administration,
the Electricity and Light administration, and the City and Houses administration
By the beginning of the 20th century, when the city maintenance expenses surpassed
the municipalities’ budget, the state started to hand over some of its city development
responsibilities to the private sector. Since 1903 the taxes had been the only income
allocated for the city, which was so small that until 1905, due to the insufficient financial
resources, the Cairo drainage project had not yet started despite being approved more
than a decade earlier11 and despite being one of the most important city services. In
1929 the Cairo Planning and Public Utilities Council (Majlis al-​tandhim wal Marafiq al
ʿAmma le Madinat al Qahira) was established, and in 1949 Cairo got its first municipal
council, which did contribute a lot in serving the city.

The Deterioration of Khedivial Cairo?

Tracing the current conditions of Cairo leads us back to the army-​led revolution of 23
July 1952, and the rise of a regime that was antagonistic to the ‘Alawite family. Khedivial

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

Cairo suffered all kinds of neglect and marginalization partially due to the successive
government efforts to establish new urban communities like Nasr City for example,
whose planning and construction started in the early 1960s, at the expense of those older
districts which were seen as part of the old regime. The issuing of certain laws has led to
a dramatic transformation of the district:

First, there was the nationalization of most of Khedivial Cairo buildings. Since most
of these building were owned by foreigners and the upper classes connected to the
old regime, different public-​sector companies of the new government took them
over and converted them from private property to state ownership.12 Their manage-
ment was often weak or was entrusted to inept government insurance companies.
In the mid 1950s, Sherket Edaret al-​̉Usoul al-​ ʿAqareya, a public-​sector real-​estate
assets-​management company, which represented Egyptian insurance companies, was
allowed to acquire more than 100 buildings in the downtown area. (Most of these
buildings were later placed on the list of registered heritage buildings according to
Law No. 144 of 2006, in the area now designated as Khedivial Cairo.) As a conse-
quence, priority was given to achieving the highest possible financial return on these
buildings through leasing all areas and spaces. In addition, the preventive main-
tenance works necessary for keeping these buildings in good condition were never
carried out.
Second, construction laws and building codes were relaxed in such a way that made new
buildings taller. This occurred by allowing them to reach maximum heights of one and
half times the width of the street. And although setbacks were required they usually
only provided narrow spatial tunnels between the buildings.
Third, the imposition of severe rent control and the introduction of new laws that regu-
lating the relationship between the landlord and the tenants in favor of the latter
created a stagnation in the housing market and an artificial gap between the rental
payment of a unit and its real value based on area, location or actual amenities.13
And instead of regulating such a relationship, these laws actually led many landlords
to abandon the maintenance of their undervalued property that was not generating
enough income even for basic services. The authority to determine rents was granted
to a committee from the municipality that would inspect the units and do an appraisal
based on some criteria that never matched their actual value. The situation became so
bad that many of the private-​sector investors avoided the building of housing and the
real-​estate business altogether.
Fourth, the applying of a new general construction law for the entire city ended the
earlier special requirements and control regulations of certain areas that should have
been treated as urban heritage, including the downtown area. Many of the original
buildings were demolished and replaced with much taller high-​rise buildings that had
no relationship to the original character of Khedivial Cairo, as can be seen in Opera
Square, Talʿat Harb Street, and many others.
Fifth, following the 1952 Revolution, all Egyptian cities witnessed a number of political,
economic and social transformations leading to an accelerating social mobility in the
form of a speedy migration from the countryside to the city. Such mobility surpassed
the capacity of the host cities, especially Cairo, to absorb these huge numbers, which
resulted in the formation of an informal-​sector housing belt around some of the older
urban areas, which resulted in some of them becoming slums and the overall unavoid-
able deterioration of the entire urban structure.

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Soheir Hawas

Sixth, although some segment of Cairene society was still interested in maintaining
the dominant European character of the district, local architects and planners were
neither interested nor able to do so as a focus on building modern took hold. The
appearance of a new social class that wanted to mimic styles from elsewhere or reflect
its new more populist taste resulted in many ugly buildings that did not fit the context
of a heritage area with a unique architectural character.
Seventh, the deterioration of the condition of most building due to the absence of regular
preventive maintenance, repair or restoration systems created a situation where many
owners would intentionally neglect their buildings to allow them to reach a dangerous
condition that would qualify them to be demolished and, consequently, would permit
the selling of the lots or their rebuilding according to different regulations that were
free of rent control and other restrictive government measures.
Eighth, this condition facilitated a change of uses and activities, and the transformation
of the majority of residential building in the district into offices and clinics, as well
as workshops and stores, in addition to the intensification of converting the ground
floors and wide building entrances into commercial activities likes shops, kiosks and
showrooms.
Ninth, the lack of awareness of the heritage value of the buildings of the district led
residents and users to ignoring the important architectural elements in the façades like
the windows, balconies, cantilevers and ornaments, in such a way that their original
features were obliterated and became absolutely unrecognizable as the commercial
activities and stores took them over. This was further aggravated by the spread of
advertisements on the buildings’ façades and billboards on rooftops, which obliterated
or contradicted the original character of the buildings and the entire area.

Today, Khedivial Cairo is facing many challenges and it suffers from many problems
that need to be confronted and there is an official endeavor to preserve it through the
implementation of several projects. The current problems include: 1) the rise in under-
ground water levels and the leakage into the buildings’ basements and sometimes the
ground floors, threatening their structural safety; 2) the absence of a functional rainwater
drainage network due to the multiple asphalting projects on existing street pavements
without removing the older layers at sufficient depths, resulting in building entrance levels
becoming below street levels; 3) the penetration of all forms of traffic into the district,
which has led to increased vehicular density, congestion, high pollution and noise levels,
and insufficient parking spaces; 4) the emergence of informal structures on rooftops as a
result of renting out the roof rooms and changing their uses, in addition to encroachment
of commercial activities into the interstitial spaces in a manner that impedes the smooth
movement of pedestrians.
Of course, some of these problems can be attributed to the absence of a regulatory
body that can have the expertise, the decision-​making power and the capacity for super-
vision under a framework of urban heritage conservation guided by laws and legislations.

Initiatives to Conserve Khedivial Cairo and the NOUH Project

A number of attempts to alleviate the conditions of Khedivial Cairo have been made since
1996 with the “Downtown Upgrading”14 project proposed by the General Organization
for Urban Planning (GOUP), whose objective was to conduct a detailed study of all the
physical, economic, social and environmental studies of the area with the aim of coming

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

up with a comprehensive strategy for upgrading the district. However, the project was never
completed or put into action due to the lack of a legislative basis that would guarantee its
success. A number of new legislations have since been issued for the purpose of preserving
the content and scope of Khedivial Cairo as a heritage site. Perhaps the most important is
Law No 144 for the year 2006,15 which targeted the registration of buildings and facilities
of heritage value to protect them from encroachments and demolition. Following that law,
more than 500 properties inside Khedivial Cairo have been listed and registered as protected
by that law. In 2008, Law No 11916 was issued, and it identified that all registered buildings
would be protected by the law. “The National Organization for Urban Harmony”, a gov-
ernmental body with no executive power, was put in charge of registering, monitoring,
reviewing and endorsing any operations that take place in the area.
Following the listing of heritage buildings according to the aforementioned Law No
144, 2006, a number of maintenance and conservation projects of a few architecturally
distinguished heritage properties have been carried out, which, in turn, also required the
renewal or conservation of their surrounding urban environment. One of these projects
was the “Restoration of Khedivial Cairo’s Civil Image”, the first phase of which lasted
for three years, from 2014 to 2017, and included the facial restoration of the façades of
about 200 listed buildings. The project’s subsequent phases are still in process.
The launching of the project was announced in November 2014 through an exhib-
ition and field meetings with the citizens in ʿOrabi Square and al-​Alfy Street, the pur-
pose of which was to introduce the project to the residents and shop owners, a strategy
which did win many of them over and counteracted the resistance they had shown earlier
(Figure 8.7).
The project relies mainly on transforming many streets into pedestrian paths, reno-
vating their infrastructure and installing rainwater drainage networks. It also targets the
restoration of some properties and the removal of improper shop signs and advertise-
ment billboards from building rooftops and façades. The first phase included al-​Alfy and
Shawarby Streets, ʿOraby Square, Behlar passageway and al Borsa area. As a compensa-
tion for the parking ban in the main streets, a 2,700-​car-​capacity multi-​storey parking lot
has been built under Tahrir Square in front of the Egyptian Museum.
The statues at the centers of the squares of Khedivial Cairo have also been restored,
and their surrounding areas, and illuminated in an attempt to showcase the original char-
acter of the area and attract people, especially after the widening of the sidewalks and the
designation of the new pedestrian areas .

Concluding Remarks
Tracing the emergence and urbanization of the Egyptian capital leads to a recognition
of the extent to which political will has influenced the urban development and the mod-
ernization project, and not only in the 19th century that created Khedivial Cairo but also
in the 21st century . This can be clearly seen in the growth of Cairo itself from Fustat to
al Qahira, with its many quarters that carried the names of the rulers under whose rule
they were built. It is not an exception that Khedivial Cairo had districts with names like
“Ismaʿilia” and “Tawfiqiya”.
Khedivial Cairo failed to get the same degree of interest and attention gained by the
old Historical Cairo, ever since it was registered by the UNESCO as a World Heritage
Site in 1978. But now that the district has finally been registered nationally as a cultural
heritage site with its own conservation requirements, it is quite heartening to see that

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Soheir Hawas

Figure 8.7 Al-​Alfi Street before and after innovations.

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Khedivial Cairo: The Genesis of the Modern City

the term “Khedivial Cairo” has gained some currency. Today many ordinary Egyptians
and professionals have reassessed their view of the area and started to admire its archi-
tectural character. Unfortunately, a few architects operating in the district gave in to the
naïve requests from some of their clients to clone some of Khedivial Cairo architec-
tural features in new buildings. This resulted in a copy-​and-​paste method that created
deformed architectural styles for these new buildings.
The on-​going NOUH project titled “Restoring the Civilized Face of Khedivial Cairo”
is a model of hope for revitalizing the area and maintaining its character. It also aims at
studying the prospects of re-​employing the administrative buildings in Khedivial Cairo as
many government agencies are slated to be relocated in the New Administrative Capital
east of the city that is currently under construction. It remains to be seen how Khedivial
Cairo will fare under this recent development.

Notes
1 NOUH, “The National Organization of Urban Harmony”, established in 2001 according to a
presidential decree no. 37.
2 Building Law No. 119, 2008, Chapter Two: “Urban Harmony” –​Section Two: “Areas of
Value”.
3 S. Hawas, Khedivial Cairo –​Identification and Documentation of Urban/​Architecture in Downtown
Cairo, ADC Cairo 2002.
4 Khedive Ismail ruled 1863–​1879, Khedive Tawfik ruled 1879–​1892, Khedive Abbas Helmi II
ruled 1892–​1914.
5 Niazi, M. (1958), Al Qahira: Derasat Takhtiteya fel Morour Wal Naql Wal Mowasalat.
Cairo: Anglo Egyptian.
6 Wali,T., Al Qahira.
7 Karim, S., Al Qahira ka Madina –​Takhtitoha –​Tataworiha –​Tawasoʿiha (Cairo as a City –​Its
Planning, Development and Expansion).
8 Napoleon Bonaparte, leader of the French Campaign on Egypt (1798–​1801).
9 Scharabi,M., Kairo.
10 Soares the horse and mule drawn carts in Cairo streets and which were named after a Jewish
family working in the field of mass transportation and which owned these carts. The parking
lot assigned to it was the site of Mostafa Kamel Square and the surrounding land.[[What does
“Soares” refer to?]]
11 Waly, T., Al Qahira.
12 The application of Law No 117 for the year 1961, directed to transferring certain sectors own-
ership to the state, that is to the public sector.
13 • A decision was issued on December 15, 1952, which is the first intervention between the owner
and the tenant to reduce the rental value of residential real estate by 15%
• Issuing of law No 169 for 1961, reducing the rental value by 20%
• In 1963, rents for all old and new properties were reduced to 35%. [[Should this be “by”?]]
• In 1964, a decision was taken to form committees regarding the estimation of the rental value
and to withdraw the validity of this matter from the real estate owners; in the case of disputes,
they had to go to court.
• The issuance of Law No. 49 of 1977 regarding the leasing and sale of units and regulating the
relationship between the landlord and tenants.
14 “Upgrading the Urban Environment and Preserving the Urban Character of Greater Cairo –​
Downtown (Khedivial Cairo)”, General Organization of Urban Planning, the Regional Center
of Greater Cairo Urban development Planning.
15 Law No 144 (2006) “Regulating the Demolishing of the non-​falling buildings and preserving
the architectural heritage”.
16 “Building Law” No 119 (2008), Part II: “Urban Harmony”, Chapter 3 “Places of Value”.

All images are by the author or produced by assistants under her supervision.

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Soheir Hawas

References
AlSayyad, N. (2017),Cairo: Histories of a City. Harvard University Press, Cambridge.
“Building Law 119, 2008, Part II: “Urban Harmony”, Chapter 3, “Places of Value”.
El Kadi, G. (2012), Cairo –​Centre in movement. IRD Editions, Marseille.
Hanna, N. (1992) Misr Om al Donia –​Qisat al Qahira fi 1300 ʿAm. Beirut: Dar Alfaty Alʿarabi.
Hawas, S. (2002), Khedivian Cairo –​Identification and Documentation of Urban/​Architecture in
Downtown Cairo. Cairo: Architectural Designs Center.
—​—​—​. Al Hifaz ʿala al Manatiq al hadareya al Turatheya hatmeya hadareya-​maa Zikr khas lil
Qahira.
—​—​—​. (2019), “Urban Transformations: Effect on mobility and transportation in Cairo.” Future
of Electric Transportation, Forum, Cairo, 19–​20 November 2019.
Hawas, Z. “Upgrading the Urban Environment & Preserving the Urban Character of Greater
Cairo –​Downtown (Khedivial Cairo).” General Organization of Urban Planning, the Regional
Center of Greater Cairo Urban development Planning. Report 1, 1999, Report 2, 2001, Report
3, 2002
Karim, S. (1952), Al Qahira Ka Madina: Takhtitoha, Tataworiha, Tawasoʿha. Cairo: Mejalat
al-​Imara, issue 1&2.
Law No144, 2006, “Reglulating the Demolishing of the Non-​falling Buildings and Conserving the
Architectural Heritage”.
Mohamed ,S. (1989), Kairo-​Stadt und Architektur im Zeitalter des europäischen Kolonialismus.
Ernst Wasmuth, Tubingen.
Morgan, I. (1999), Kairo –​Die Entwicklung des modernen Stadtzentrums im 19. Wissenschaften, Bern.
Nagati, O., and Stryker, B. (2015), Cairo Downtown Passageways. Cluster, Cairo; passageways.
clustermappinginitiative.org.
Niazi, M. (1958), Al Qahira: Dirasat takhtiteya fil morour wal naql wal mowasalat. Cairo: Anglo
Egyptian Press.
Wali, T. Al Qahira. Cairo: Wali Center.
Zaki, A.R. (1966), Al Qahira, Tarikhoha wa Atharuha min Jawhar al Qảid ila al Jabarti, al Dar al
Masreya lel Tảlif wal Targama.

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9
TAHRIR SQUARE
The Roundabout and the History
of Modern Cairo

Mariam Abdelazim

For many people, Tahrir Square remains both the site and the symbol of the Egyptian
Revolution that erupted in early 2011 and then had a ripple effect on other Arab countries
and the rest of the world. However, following April 3rd, 2021, Tahrir became registered in
the minds of many Egyptians as a manicured performing stage for the Mummy Parade
that left from Tahrir Museum and revolved around the roundabout heading south to the
new National Museum of Egyptian Civilization in Fustat. The visual memory of the
square has often been one of a large roundabout with heavy vehicular traffic circulating
around it. Throughout 150 years, the square’s roundabout has been constantly chan-
ging, echoing the social and political transformations of Egypt. This chapter examines
the symbolism of Tahrir Square’s roundabout by analyzing its several redesigns and the
different monuments that were either proposed or placed at its center in an attempt to
project a certain Egyptian identity.
Roundabouts were a European invention to regulate traffic, and many people often
use the terms “roundabout” and “traffic circle” interchangeably. A roundabout or a traffic
circle is a round space where three or more roads intersect and that requires traffic to go
around it rather than going straight. During the second half of the nineteenth century,
European city planners introduced roundabouts to modern city fabrics that included
intersecting wide boulevards and axial streets.1 However, movement around these traffic
circles used to be in all directions. The tremendous urban growth and the profusion of
automobiles exacerbated traffic congestion; thus, there had to be a practical solution to
control traffic. In 1903, French Architect Eugène Hénard proposed roundabouts as func-
tional urban design elements beyond those designed in Haussmann’s Paris. In 1905, the
traffic circle entered New York City when William Eno resolved traffic congestion in the
city by inventing the first one-​way rotary system at Columbus Circle, the traffic circle par
excellence.2 By 1909, Unwin and Parker brought the roundabout to American suburbia
by using it in Letchworth, the first garden city they designed. Since then, roundabouts
have proliferated worldwide. In the case of the Middle East and the Arab World, rond-​
points were introduced with the Haussmannian city planning that either local or Western
planners implemented in several cities, including Istanbul, Algeria, Damascus and Cairo.
Roundabouts often evolve from being only a means of easing traffic congestion to
carrying symbolic meaning as well. Frequently, they serve as bases for commemorative or

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-10 141

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Mariam Abdelazim

emblematic monuments that contribute to forming their respective cities and countries’
identities. For instance, the Triumph Arch crowning Paris’s Place de l’Etoile or Charles
de Gaulle roundabout is a symbol of France’s national identity that commemorates
the victory of Napoleon I in the Battle of Austerlitz. Columbus Circle, the round-
about in New York City, pays homage to Christopher Columbus by carrying his statue.
The roundabout offers a perfect setting for a monument that vehicles circle around,
suggesting a sacred processional quality embedded in the regular circular motion of
cars. So roundabouts can be said to have always evolved from functionally instrumental
elements to regulate traffic to being urban sites for expressing the power of regimes. But
roundabouts are not meant to be accessible or used as a social gathering space by the
public. On the contrary, the flow of vehicular traffic around them prevents access to
their center. Thus, they are open spaces that are just seen but are not meant to be used
by people.
The Tahrir Square roundabout is not only significant because of its central location
at the heart of Cairo but also because the several transformations it underwent and the
changes of the buildings at its circumference, either by the subsequent ruling regimes
or by the people, epitomize the change in Cairo’s modern history. It is a junction for
a number of vital governmental, administrative, cultural and educational institutions,
including the Mogamaʿ, the American University in Cairo, the Egyptian Museum, the
Hilton Hotel and the Arab League headquarters.

Founding the Modern Square

Since its foundation around 1869, subsequent regimes have been using Tahrir Square
for representing their power and projecting a specific image of Egypt to the rest of the
world, and the roundabout has been the epicenter of this projection. The Square had
its debut during the second half of the 19th century when Khedive Ismaʿil, the ruler
of Egypt at that time, embarked on his grand modernization project. The preliminary
planning of the layout for what was known as Qasr al-​Nil Square began during the
planning and construction of modern Cairo, which took place between 1867 and 1869.
At that time, Khedive Ismaʿil was preparing to transform the Egyptian capital into a
European backdrop for the Suez Canal opening. Tahrir Square, which was called Qasr
al-​Nil Square then, was part of Ismaʿil’s modernization project. The square was situated
in the modern Quarter of Ismaʿilia, a name that paid homage to its founder and was
laid out following a haussmannian plan with wide, tree-​lined boulevards and axial streets
radiating from several traffic circles.3 The square was better defined when Qasr al-​Nil
Bridge was built in 1872 to connect and facilitate the traffic between the downtown area,
where Ismaʿilia is located, and Al-​Jazira, which is linked to the Great Pyramids of Giza.
An 1874 map of Cairo shows the square with two traffic circles, named Qasr al-​Nil rond
points, surrounded on the east and west by European-​Islamic style residential palaces
belonging to the Khedivial family, and foreign and local high-​ranking officials. These two
circles perhaps acted as a gateway or entry landmarks to Qasr al-​Nil Bridge.
Before the mid 19th century, Princess Nazli’s Palace was the dominant structure in
what was called Qasr al-​Nil area. Mohamed ʿAli Pasha built a palace for his daughter,
Nazli, on the western side of the square overlooking the Nile, which was called Qasr
al-​Nil. Mohamed Saʿid Pasha, who ruled Egypt from 1854 to 1863, purchased the palace
in 1853, demolished it and built massive barracks as the headquarters for the Egyptian-​
Ottoman army where military training and parades took place.4 During that time, Egypt

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was a semi-​autonomous province of the Ottoman Empire. The other structures on the
square were a few palaces that belonged to the ruling family.5
By the second half of the 19th century, the Qasr al-​Nil area not only played a military
role because of the barracks in the western area of the square, but it also acquired an
additional role as a passage for tourists who visited the Pyramids. The military barracks
stood on the west side along the main avenue that connected the rond points to Qasr al-​
Nil Bridge. On the northern side of the square there were cultivated lands and on the east
and south stood Khedivial and elite palaces with their private gardens. The site was still
very much undeveloped. Transportation was with carriages, with the main hub located at
al-​ʿAtaba Square, about 1.5 kilometers away.

The Square under British Rule

When the British occupied Egypt in 1882, they used the existing Qasr al-​Nil barracks
as a base for their army from 1882 until 1947.6 What was then called Qasr al-​Nil Square
became the site for British military training and daily parades, which took place in the
open area behind the barracks’ E-​shaped structure.7 In addition, a nearby building
hosted some British agencies. In these ways the Square became a manifestation of the
British colonialism in Egypt. If someone had visited Qasr al-​Nil Square at the end of
the 19th century, they would have experienced a divided site between the British forces
on the west side and the elite’s palaces on the east and south sides. Qasr al-​Nil Square
served the colonizers and provided them with a large space for their activities while still
offering spacious, private, fenced palaces with gardens mostly for foreign aristocrats.
Despite this functional separation, the juxtaposition of the military colonial with elite
residential functions echoed Egypt’s political and social circumstances at that time. The
roundabout also started to assume a more important role as a traffic circle, and, by the
turn of the 20th century, automobiles and tram lines entered Tahrir Square.8
The roundabout became the point of intersection of three viable tram lines: one
branched east towards the main transportation hub at ʿAtaba Square, the second one
went south to Old Cairo, and the third one moved north to Cairo Central Rail Station.
In 1902, the square received Egypt’s most vital cultural institution, which is the Museum
of Egyptian Antiquities, commonly known as the Egyptian Museum,9 which gave a
clearer morphological definition to Tahrir Square and its roundabout. It was the French
Egyptologist Auguste Mariette who envisioned the construction of a monumental
building to house the ancient Egyptian artifacts and antiquities that used to be located
in the Bulaq Museum and then temporarily in the Khedivial palace at Giza.10 In 1895,
French architect Marcel Dourgnon won the museum design competition, judged by a
European panel of jurors, but due to a series of delays it was not until 1902 that the
building was completed.11 The museum was the first and largest in the world to exclu-
sively house ancient Egyptian antiquities. It is a monumental two-​storey building that
follows a T-​shape layout with a frontal facade emulating a basilica-​like plan since the
entrance is protruding and topped with a dome. This double-​height dome also acts
as a distribution point to the 100 galleries on the right and left.12 The design followed
the Beaux-​Arts tradition that evoked the neoclassical style, which also combines some
Greco-​Roman and Italian Renaissance elements represented in the arches and columns.13
Ancient Egyptian references were very minimal on the exterior facade of the museum
and even the inscriptions were in Latin, a language that most Egyptians do not under-
stand.14 The Italian company Zaffrani that was responsible for construction used, for the

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Mariam Abdelazim

Figure 9.1 The Egyptian Museum and the British barracks on the left in 1902.
Source: postcard from delcampe.net (www.delca​mpe.net/​en_​US/​colle​ctib​les/​postca​rds/​egypt/​cairo/​
d10​220-​pal​ais-​de-​kasr-​el-​nil-​et-​musee-​199246​656.html).

first time in Egypt, reinforced concrete and innovative Italian construction methods that
bolstered the durability of the building.15
The museum structure bounded the square from the south, while the elongated
E-​shaped military barracks that the British occupied in 1882 defined the west side of
the square (Figure 9.1). The conception, design, location and administration of the
Egyptian Museum, all by the French, is a manifestation of the tension and rivalry
between the imperial powers of France and Britain, marking their presence and show-
casing their authority over a vital Middle Eastern capital. While Britain was exerting
military control, France was expressing cultural domination and a desire to appropriate
the ancient Egyptian heritage. The ensemble of Western imperialism was complemented
by the foundation of the American University in Cairo in 1919. The university occupies
a neo-​Mamluk building that overlooks the south-​eastern side of Ismaʿilia Square. The
structure used to be the palace of Ahmed Khairy Pasha, Ismaʿil’s minister in 1874.16 By
the end of the 19th century, a Greek man bought it, lived in one part and turned the
other part into a cigarette factory. From 1908 to 1918, the building had many uses: the
first floor housed the Egyptian University, while the second floor had the Khedivial
Association for politics economy, statistics and legislation, and the third floor had the
Egyptian Women Union.17 Since 1919, the American University in Cairo (AUC) has
taken ownership of the building, which became later known as the AUC Main Building.
A few decades after the opening of the AUC, the university acquired several other

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buildings in the vicinity. The cultural imperialism reflected by introducing to Egypt an

American higher-​education system that replaced what had been the Egyptian University
represented America’s desire to occupy a vital location where the other two imperial
authorities were already represented.
With the tourists visiting the museum, the American University students and the
British officers, the square, which was known as Ismaʿilia Square, became a diverse traffic
intersection bustling with people, cars, trams and public buses going in all directions. The
roundabout itself was still a green area with a few bushes encircled by a pavement.

The Monarchy: A Roundabouts for Kings

In 1922, the British granted Egypt partial independence and declared Egypt as a mon-
archy. In 1947, during the reign of the second king, Farouk, the British evacuated the
barracks, which the government later demolished. Farouk envisioned Tahrir Square as a
civic center. He commissioned a statue of his grandfather, Khedive Ismaʿil, to be installed
at the center of the roundabout of Ismaʿilia Square. Farouk also ordered enlarging and
designing the roundabout with several concentric paved and grassy platforms. The grassy
areas were embellished with red flower beds and the paved platform contained steps that
led up to a central pedestal that was installed to carry the statue of Khedive Ismaʿil. The
pedestal was made of red granite and adorned with double Corinthian columns on three
sides. In 1947, a competition was held for the design of Ismaʿil’s statue. Among the com-
petition judges was the palace architect, Mostafa Fahmy, and the head of Alexandria’s
municipality.18 Eventually, the statue was made in Italy as the judge thought that the
competition entries were of low quality in terms of craftsmanship and artistry. The
statue arrived from Italy a few days after a group of Egyptian military officers (the Free
Officers) overthrew the monarchy in July 1952, and thus it never crowned the pedestal,
which remained statue-​less for over 30 years, signifying the failure of the monarchy. In
1987, the government demolished the pedestal for the metro line construction.19
Before the 1952 coup d’état that forced King Farouk to abdicate, he commissioned
another vital building which remains until the present day the epitome of the relentless
Egyptian bureaucracy par excellence and that is the Mogamaʿ.20 This monumental struc-
ture was part of Farouk’s plan to transform Tahrir Square into a civic center where most
of the country’s administrative functions were concentrated in one building, Mogamaʿ,
literally meaning the “complex” or “collective”. The building complements the round-
about as it forms an enclosure which architect Mohamed Kamal Ismaʿil created by arcing
the building to the center of the roundabout. The structure consists of 14 stories with a
few architectural elements evoking a Mamluk style, such as the muqarnas-​inspired forms
on top of some windows or the arches at the entrance.

A National Roundabout for a New Republic

After the 1952 coup, Tahrir Square became a tabula rasa for local architects and planners
to project a modern image of the revolutionary Egyptian Republic. In 1953, al-​Musawar,
a general-​interest Egyptian magazine, published a schematic plan for Tahrir Square
proposed by Cairo Municipality.21 The ambitious proposal called for surrounding the
existing structures, such as the Mogamaʿ and al-​ʿAbit Mosque adjacent to it, with a
national radio and broadcast building and a national library, while also adding a
monument at the center of the roundabout commemorating the “Unknown Soldier”.

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Originally, foreign countries had built all over Egypt cenotaphs for the unknown soldiers
for the soldiers who lost their lives following World Wars I and II. After 1952, Egyptian
artists adapted and nationalized this type of monument to commemorate the Egyptian
soldiers. It was also their way to gain visibility and impress the new regime. The monument
depicted an eagle with widespread wings standing on the existing pedestal, representing
the new national symbol of the Republic of Egypt. In the same year, Egyptian architect
Sayed Karim published a proposal for Tahrir Square both in his architectural journal,
al-​ʿImara, and in al-​Musawar. He proposed replacing the Egyptian Museum with an
Egyptian museum for civilization, and building a hotel, with a casino extending to the
Nile, on the site of the barracks. His plan also included a new building for the Ministry
of Foreign Affairs, a structure for the radio and television administration, and an enor-
mous monument for the “unknown soldier” by artist Fathi Mahmoud to be located on
the roundabout. Mahmoud designed a symbolic monument of Egyptian nationalism
consisting of large circular stairs leading to a colonnaded round space crowned by a
disk-​shaped platform or roof. At the base of the circular stairs were several eagle statues
spreading their wings with an arm and fist puncturing through the center of the roof and
holding a sword. The two proposed monuments were clearly making a strong statement
affirming the national identity of the new regime by incorporating its icons, namely the
eagles. However, the government never implemented any of the proposals.
The buildings at the circumference of the roundabout acted as stronger symbols
replacing the unknown soldiers’ monuments. After Gamal ʿAbdel Nasser assumed
power in Egypt in 1956, he embarked on several projects in Tahrir Square that spoke
of his political agenda. He situated two of these projects on the site of the demolished
barracks: the headquarters of the Arab League and the Nile Hilton Hotel. The former
signified a regional engagement with other Arab countries while the latter represented a
global engagement with the rest of the world. The third building, which is equally politic-
ally loaded, is Nasser’s Arab Socialist Union (ASU), which in 1970 became the National
Democratic Party (NDP) headquarters of the two subsequent presidents, Sadat and
Mubarak. With their functions, scale and international style of architecture, the three
buildings defined Cairo’s skyline along the Nile. One can argue that they made a powerful
statement about the interplay between Nasser’s national and regional political leadership
and his international aspirations to become a global leader.
Not only did Egypt become a republic in 1953, but, in 1964, Nasser renamed it the
Arab Socialist Republic of Egypt.22 In 1955, he commissioned the Egyptian architect and
director-​general of Cairo Municipality, Mahmoud Riad, to help him materialize Egypt’s
renaming of Tahrir Square by completing two iconic buildings.23 The first one was the
Arab League, whose raison d’être reflects Nasser’s desire to become the leading figure of
pan-​Arabism and the powerful leader of the Arab world that became united and was
one step away from becoming a single Arab State perhaps ruled by Nasser.24 The Arab
League as an organization already existed in 1945, but it was not until Nasser ruled Egypt
that it developed into a league that catered for Egypt’s interests and Cairo became the
center of its operations.25 Nasser chose the perfect location to make his statement clear,
the spacious site of the razed British barracks. Cairo Municipality prepared a master
plan for the Tahrir Square site. Part of the plan entailed the development of several
plots, including the former barracks land. Riad dedicated one plot to the Arab League
building that he designed. The building represents a modern and simplified interpret-
ation of Islamic architecture with respect to the masses, facade and entrance design, and
project layout. Its design is a blend of the functionality of the international style and

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Tahrir Square: The Roundabout and the History of Modern Cairo

the regionalism in its incorporation of Islamic elements including the Moorish motifs
adorning the entrances. It has a U-​shape composition that gives a sense of privacy since
the enclosure opens to the south side, and Riad did not orient the building towards
the square. The fencing surrounding the structure accentuates the exclusiveness of the
building.
The second building that Nasser commissioned is the headquarters of the Arab
Socialist Union (ASU) right next to the Egyptian Museum. Originally, Riad designed
the building to house the Cairo Municipality.26 But after he completed the building in
1959, Nasser decided to house the headquarters of the Socialist Union there instead.
The monumental L-​shaped structure consists of an elongated 14-​storey building with a
three-​storey podium and an attached four-​storey building. The building’s L-​shaped form
enclosed an open space overlooking the Nile, giving its back to the square. Unlike the
Arab League, the ASU Headquarters did not have any fence, implying a sense of acces-
sibility for the public, who probably did not have a reason to enter it except if someone
worked there. It reflected the similar functionality of the Hilton Hotel with the austere
modern uniform grid of windows. The building typified Nasser’s despotism through the
rule of one political party, disguised in what he referred to as “Socialism”. And since
this building was adopted by Sadat and later Mubarak to be the headquarters of their
National Party, the building became associated with the Mubarak regime, and hence it
was burned down during the 2011 uprising. The building remained in ruins until 2015,
when the government under President Sisi demolished it.
The Nile Hilton complemented the ensemble of Nasser’s buildings as a manifest-
ation of his policies. The construction of the hotel in 1959, the second international
Hilton, projected a modern image of Cairo. After World War II, Hilton hotels were
spreading across Europe and the Middle East to express a modern luxurious lifestyle
that American imperialism and capitalism offered through the proliferation of this
hotel model. The founder of the hotel chain, Conrad Hilton, referred to each of his
hotels as a “little America”.27 In her book “Building the Cold War: Hilton International
Hotels and Modern Architecture” Wharton argues that America used Hilton Hotels as
a cold war weapon to counteract Soviet communism by spreading modernity, efficiency
and comfort.28 Hilton’s slogan “World Peace through International Trade and Travel”29
can be seen as a definition of globalization in this context. For Nasser, the establish-
ment of a Hilton along the Nile was a tool to situate his capital Cairo, and in turn
Egypt, on the global map. He wanted to change Egypt’s status from a British colony to
a globalized country of tourism, comfort and safety. Nasser also wanted to re-​define
the Egyptian identity and disassociate it from both its Islamic and colonial past, which
he deemed undesirable and outdated. Tahrir Square was the perfect place to achieve
his goal. In a similar vein, the first Hilton outside the United States was in Istanbul.30
Its location was conveniently placed at the city center within a ten-​minute walking dis-
tance from Taksim Square, which can be considered Tahrir Square’s counterpart in the
Turkish capital.
Additionally, Nasser renovated a decaying religious symbol, which is Al-​Abit Mosque,
located at the southwest perimeter of the roundabout. In 1956 a new elaborate mosque
replaced Al-​ Abit, that is ʿOmar Makram Mosque. The Awqaf Administration, the
authority responsible for Islamic religious sites, commissioned Italian architect and
Muslim convert Mario Rossi to design ʿOmar Makram Mosque. The mosque consists
of a mélange of neo-​Fatimid (the minaret), Andalusian (the portico) and neo-​Mamluk
elements.31 It has two entrances: one at the corner under the minaret, and the other at the

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Mariam Abdelazim

Figure 9.2 Aerial view of Tahrir Square in the 1960s.

Source: postcard from delcampe.net (/​www.delca​mpe.net/​en_​US/​colle​ctib​les/​postca​rds/​egypt/​
cairo/​cairo-​le-​caire-​kairo-​air-​pict​ure-​of-​midan-​el-​tah​rir-​vue-​aerie​nne-​de-​la-​place-​el-​tah​rir-​463874​
842.html).

back entrance that is oriented west to the Nile. It contains two event halls and a library
besides the main prayer hall and ablution area.32
Overlooking the new symbols of the republic was a public park with a fountain,
plants and benches, which decorated the central cultural and administrative hub of
Cairo (Figure 9.2). Tahrir Square also became a major busy transportation hub where
pedestrians, public transportation and vehicular circulation intersected. To alleviate the
traffic congestion, the government constructed an elevated pedestrian bridge around the
central roundabout in the early 1970s that lasted for over ten years before it was demolished
during the construction of the underground metro line in the 1980s33 (Figure 9.3).

The Liberation Roundabout: Tahrir Square and the Revolution

Since the British occupation in 1882, Tahrir has been a platform for political expres-
sion by Egyptians either to show support for the regime or express discontent with its
policies. Saʿid identifies 15 major protests that occurred in Tahrir Square. The earliest
demonstrations started at the turn of the twentieth century with several clashes between
Egyptians and British officers on the site of the military barracks when the square
witnessed its first martyr.34 In 1919, protestors denouncing the occupation marched
through the square, and in 1946 the British forces killed 30 Egyptian civilians on the
site of the barracks.35 In a series of other demonstrations during the 1960s and 1970s
Egyptians voiced their grievances towards the government’s policies. And finally at the
turn of the 21st century, Egyptians used Tahrir as a platform to show solidarity with
other Arab countries, including Palestine, Iraq and Lebanon.

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Tahrir Square: The Roundabout and the History of Modern Cairo

Figure 9.3 Tahrir Square during the 1970s with the pedestrian bridge.
Source: Postcard from hippostcards.com.

All these political events brought a form of discontent and finally culminated in
the 2011 Revolution. By the end of January 2011, Tahrir Square roundabout became
the nucleus of all the vital political, social and cultural activities of the protestors. The
roundabout was a strategic choice for the protestors to occupy since it is a junction to
numerous main streets and occupying it would mean paralyzing the traffic flow in this
central area (Figure 9.4).
During the 18 days of the demonstrators’ encampment in the square the roundabout
became a city within the city. Protestors erected a tent city on the roundabout, which
people referred to as the “Tahrir Republic”, a miniature Egyptian society where social

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Figure 9.4 Tahrir during the 2011 Revolution.

Source: Wikimedia commons (https://​comm​ons.wikime​dia.org/​wiki/​File:Tahrir​_​Squ​are_​on_
​J​uly_​29_​2​011.jpg).

and commercial activities took place among different socio-​economic groups. For 18 days
the square was not only a site of protest and public dissent, but also a community, a place
where people slept, ate, prayed and socialized. It was a small self-​sufficient city within
the city.36 People built tents, restrooms and stages and allocated areas for prayer, social
gatherings and forums.37 However, depending on the turn of events and the authority’s
reactions, the mood in Tahrir ranged between festiveness, caution and depression. The
square became a common ground for people of different socio-​economic backgrounds to
gather and to dream of a shared goal. People from all over the country came together to
claim their rights and to topple the despotic regime. Liberals and Islamists, Muslims and
Christians co-​existed and women wearing jeans and t-​shirts stood next to women wearing
niqabs, reflecting social, class and ethnic diversity. The revolutionary vibes seemed to
break the longstanding class and gender barriers and to demonstrate that the Egyptians
were able to communicate and unite for one cause. During the revolution, Tahrir Square
was transformed from a state-​owned space to a public space occupied by the people who
territorialized the empty grassy roundabout with their tents.
AlSayyad and Weizman refer to the 2011 Egyptian Revolution as a “roundabout
revolution”.38 AlSayyad implies that the uprising stemmed from the roundabout where
authorities and people manifest all the political actions. Weizman gives the terminology
of the “roundabout revolution” another level by applying a theoretical lens. He explains
that the raison d’être of the roundabout was originally functional. It is an element of
people’s self-​regulation and discipline.39 Instead of traffic lights and police officers, the
roundabout made it up to the drivers to manage their movements. This resonates with
Michel Foucault’s theories on governmentality, which entails creating a framework

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for people’s behaviors and interactions.40 In this case, the roundabout is a diagram of
the Panopticon, a circular structure where the circumference is constantly surveilled
by the center. Weizman offers an interesting Foucauldian reading of the “roundabout
revolutions” in which roundabouts act as “inverted panopticons”. He explains how this
concept applies to Tahrir Square: “On January 25, the order of the square was turned
inside out: its center began delivering the services usually provided by the institutional
buildings on its circumference.”41

Social Media and the Virtual Tahrir Square

Following the 2011 Revolution, Tahrir Square became registered in the minds of a large
number of people around the world as the symbol of liberation and freedom of expres-
sion. This symbolic association was mainly due to the role social media and cable televi-
sion played in propagating messages, images and videos about the Egyptian uprising to
the rest of the world. Unlike previous uprisings and demonstrations in Tahrir Square, the
January 2011 Revolution did not only take place physically in the square. Actually, social
media platforms, including Facebook and Twitter, played a vital role in catalyzing and
galvanizing the revolution. As a prelude to the revolution, in 2010 a group of Egyptian
youths headed by Wael Ghoneim, who later became the face of the 2011 Revolution, had
created a Facebook page which he named “We Are All Khaled Saʿid”.42 The page was a
gesture in solidarity with an Egyptian who was tortured to death by the Egyptian State
Security Investigation Forces. It later became a hub where Egyptians expressed their dis-
satisfaction with the police and documented incidents of violence against citizens. A few
months before 2011, the page called for a protest on the Police Force Day on January
25th, which mobilized thousands of Egyptians to occupy Tahrir Square and demand
their rights.
Protestors and activists used Facebook and Twitter to organize and plan their mar-
ches, to make announcements and to share events and updates through photographs and
videos. The profusion of real-​time pictures and videos, and the media coverage eman-
ating from the square to the world, formulated a movement spirit and a protest model
that people replicated in many cities. This in turn had a ripple effect as populations all
around the globe were inspired by what was happening in Egypt and were encouraged
to initiate their own demonstrations, such as the uprisings in Bahrain, Yemen, Barcelona
and the Occupy Wall Street Movement in New York. The feeling of political and social
empowerment was transmitted from Egypt to Barcelona and New York as they called
their first encampments “Tahrir Square”.43
Social media represented a real threat to the Mubarak regime as it mobilized and
organized the crowds against the government. Thus, on January 28th the authorities
deactivated the internet connections and suspended cell phone service to cut off all means
of communication among activists.44 This resonates with Tiananmen Square protests in
1989 when the Chinese government cut off the phone and telegraph lines going in and
out of the university dormitory and the international radio service to restrain any poten-
tial unrest.45 It also cut the international radio service to cease any news transmission
through Voice of America radio service, which allowed news to circulate between Beijing
and the rest of the empire.46 This demonstrates the power of cable and digital communi-
cation in a form of a virtual public space that catalyzes the people’s assembly and occu-
pation of the actual public space. In Egypt and China, the will of people overpowered
the oppression of the regime and both Tahrir and Tiananmen became global symbols

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of political dissent. Media coverage and cable TV broadcasts amplified and accelerated
the course of events and the ensuing political actions by the authorities. As Wark argues
in his book Virtual Geography, the media coverage of the Tiananmen Square protests
was what brought the events into action.47 It is also clear that social media was a crit-
ical element that helped in the planning of the physical public space occupation and in
organizing people who shared the same ideologies and goals. Moreover, it was a means
of communication of information both locally and globally.
However, revolutions cannot only occur in virtual space. As AlSayyad puts it,
revolutions do not only emerge in cyberspace and the revolution in Egypt cannot only
be labeled as a “Facebook Revolution”. AlSayyad echoes cybernetic theoretician Manuel
Castell’s argument about the necessity of a physical space and “real world” activity that
cyberspace complements but does not substitute.48

Tahrir Square as a Surveilled Public Space

Following the 2011 Revolution, street vendors took over the roundabout, selling flags,
food and beverages on food stands and carts. They had no government permits, and
therefore no legal presence. Other vendors set chairs and sold tea, creating small cafes
for visitors. Whenever the vendors heard threats of government eviction from the square,
they would pack their stuff and leave for a while and then come back later to resume their
activities. Small camps and tents also existed at the center of the square. Some of them
were there as a political statement and others were erected by people who had no other
place to live.
During 2016, the roundabout was redesigned to include two concentric circular
platforms: the outer one was grass and the inner one was paved with a central white
pedestal holding the Egyptian flag. At that time, there were three paved pathways that
allowed access to the paved and grassy areas on the roundabout. The roundabout was
enclosed by a white, short stone fence that people used for sitting. An initial visit on a
weekend, August 30th, 2019, at 9 pm, showed people using the grassed area on the round-
about for picnics and for just lying down on the grass. Egyptian newspapers also reported
with pictures, videos and interviews that the square, and particularly the roundabout,
was being used by families for celebrations, such as ʿEid Al-​Fitr, and to get away from the
summer heat.49 People brought food and beverages and laid them out on the grass while
children played and ran around them.

The New Roundabout: The Square as a Museum

In August 2019, the government announced a renovation project to preserve Tahrir as
the most prominent square in Egypt and as a symbol of modernism.50 President Al-​Sisi
envisioned a legendary event, to take place in 2021, for the procession of ancient Egyptian
mummies from the old museum building in Tahrir Square to the National Museum of
Egyptian Civilization in Fustat, south of Tahrir. A suitable backdrop was needed for the
celebration he wished to broadcast to the world. As a result, the Egyptian Prime Minister,
Mostafa Madbouly, commissioned the latest Tahrir Square redesign to Shehab Mazhar,
a renowned Egyptian landscape designer and engineer who is known for his luxurious
landscape work for private villas in gated communities.51 As he declared in an interview
published in a national newspaper, his vision was to transform the square into an “open-​
air museum” where the ancient Egyptian identity could be displayed.52

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According to Mariam ʿAbdelDayem, the team leader for the Tahrir Square 2019
redesign project, Mazhar’s office submitted three different proposals to the government
after doing extensive research on the history of the square, taking into account its sym-
bolism.53 One of the proposals suggested dedicating the square to the public by turning
it into a people’s plaza with planned areas and promenades where recreational activ-
ities such as picnics and strolls could take place, but the government wanted to min-
imize access to the square by large crowds. ʿAbdelDayem noted that the government
did not favor what was already happening in the square, such as the public picnics and
the gathering of people. It also wanted to incorporate in the square design an ancient
Egyptian obelisk and four sphinxes that were brought from Upper Egypt. Thus Mazhar’s
design converted the square to an open-​air museum. He placed the obelisk at the center of
the roundabout and surrounded it with the four sphinxes. To limit access to the exhibited
monuments, he elevated the obelisk and enclosed it with a water barrier. ʿAbdelDayem
also indicated that the Egyptian Museum exhibits will still be extended as the plan is to
showcase ancient Egyptian artifacts in the open area on the west that acts as the roof for
the Tahrir Square parking in front of the museum (Figure 9.5).
On April 3rd, 2021, Egyptian television stations aired the long-​awaited event of the
Egyptian Mummy Parade.54 Accompanied by extravagant symphonic music, 22 Pharaonic
mummies were paraded from Tahrir Museum in elegant, pharaonic-​inspired vehicles that
circulated around Tahrir roundabout heading south to the National Museum of Egyptian
Civilization located in Fustat. The whole event, from the organization to the setting to
the music, the performers’ costumes, and choreography, was Sisi’s way of displaying the
Egyptian identity to the rest of the world. The promotional videos and statements by
the event’s host and Tourism and Antiquities Minister Khaled al-​ʿAnany conveyed the
extreme pride of the Egyptians who orchestrated every aspect of the entire event. It was
such an impressive and powerful statement that had the power to reposition Egypt’s
status globally. Aerial videos and photography filled Egyptians’ social media profiles of
all age groups, expressing pride and awe.

Figure 9.5 Panoramic aerial view of Tahrir Square with its surroundings in 2020.
Source: Author.

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On social media, people circulated pictures of the roundabout of Tahrir Square both
during the 2011 Revolution and as a setting for the parade, contrasting the chaotic Tahrir
of 2011 with the now polished and clean spectacular Square. The Egyptian newspaper Al-​
Watan also published similar before-​and-​after pictures of the square while describing how it
has been transformed from an absolutely messy place to an elegant and presentable space.55
The juxtaposition of those two pictures and the government’s redesign guidelines for Tahrir
are a clear indication of the Sisi government’s desire not only to efface but also to deface
the memory of the 2011 Revolution and to suppress any future uprising. This revolution
that sparked uprisings all around the world got reduced to a mere inscription on the plaque
below the obelisk that includes it en passant with the other past historical political events.

On the Future of the Square

Tahrir Square is a site of repeated creations and erasures of symbols of subsequent
regimes. I argue that Egyptian authorities and local and foreign elites orchestrated this
process of building and demolition by repurposing or razing existing buildings that
evoked undesirable memories. For instance, to affirm their authority, British colonizers
acquired the Egyptian military barracks when they occupied Egypt in 1882. The Hilton
Hotel and Arab League buildings replaced the British barracks during the mid 1950s.
The Ministry of Foreign Affairs and the American University readapted existing 19th-​
century royal palaces. The Sisi government replaced the 2011 demonstrators’ tents with a
fountain, an obelisk and four rams. In March 2021, the government evacuated Mogamaʿ
and announced plans to convert it into a hotel. With the transfer of the mummies and
King Tut’s antiquities from the Tahrir Museum to other museums, the original Egyptian
Museum will eventually lose its value.
The government plan is to move the cultural, educational and bureaucratic functions
out of the Square to a new center at the New Capital about 50 kilometers east of down-
town Cairo. This seems to echo Ismaʿil’s grand modernization project in the second half
of the nineteenth century that relocated the center of Cairo from the medieval city to the
royal palace in ʿAbdin in the “modern city” downtown, close to Tahrir Square. Now the
current shift is from Khedivial Cairo in the downtown area to the “post-​modern” New
Capital on the outskirts of the city.
Questions about the fate and future of Tahrir Square remain unanswered. Given its
occupation by Egyptians in 2011, should it be commemorated as a symbol of democracy
and freedom? And, if so, how? Or should it be turned into a public space for recreation
and leisure or a tourists’ stop for taking pictures? Should it remain manicured and neatly
designed, but surveilled and controlled, reflecting the interests of the current political
regime, as was the case in 2021? It is likely that after the planned deactivation of all the
vital buildings that surround it, including the relocation of the Egyptian Museum, the
American University and the Mogamaʿ, Tahrir Square will gradually revert to its original
condition –​an amorphous open space with a central roundabout.
A survey of Tahrir Square’s history demonstrates that it has been and will continue
to be a microcosm of Egypt’s modern history. The Square has witnessed the political,
social, economic and cultural transformations in Egypt through its several re-​designs, the
political events occurring on its ground, and the cultural, educational and administrative
institutions that enveloped it. Thus, Tahrir will remain a vital case study that helps in
deciphering how Egyptian public space is being adapted and re-​adapted by several actors,
and also in foretelling the future of Egypt’s political and social milieu (Figure 9.6).

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Tahrir Square: The Roundabout and the History of Modern Cairo
155

Figure 9.6 Recreated ground figure maps of Tahrir Square and its surroundings showing its change over time.
Source: Author.
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Mariam Abdelazim

Notes
1 Eyal Weizman, The Roundabout Revolutions (Sternberg Press, 2019), https://​mitpr​ess.mit.edu/​
books/​rou​ndab​out-​revo​luti​ons, 21–​23.
2 K. Todd, “A History of Roundabouts in the United States and France”, Transportation
Quarterly 42, no. 4 (October 1988), https://​trid.trb.org/​view/​289​521, 603.
3 J. L Abu-​Lughod, Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious (Princeton University Press, 1971),
105–​110.
4 F. Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani Lemadinat Alqahera (Cairo: General Egyptian
Book Organization, 2017), 84.
5 M. Volait, “Making Cairo Modern (1870–​ 1950): Multiple Models for a ‘European-​ Style’
Urbanism”, in Urbanism: Imported or Exported? (Chichester: Wiley, 2003), 25.
6 Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani, 84.
7 RE Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir as Public Space: 1870–​1970”,
Harvard Middle Eastern & Islamic Review 4, no. 1–​2 (1997): 138–​163, 141.
8 Abu-​Lughod, Cairo, 158.
9 Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir”, 141.
10 Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani, 66; and Nasser Rabbat, “Circling the Square”,
Artforum International 49, no. 8 (2011): 182–​191.
11 A. Dawood, “Failure to Engage: The Breasted-​Rockefeller Gift of a New Egyptian Museum
and Research Institute at Cairo (1926)” (Thesis, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, 2010),
https://​dsp​ace.mit.edu/​han​dle/​1721.1/​59109, 51.
12 Elshahed, Cairo since 1900: An Architectural Guide (Cairo; The American University in Cairo
Press, 2020), 86.
13 Rabbat, “Circling the Square”, 185–​186.
14 Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir”, 141.
15 “Egyptian Museum in Cairo”, UNESCO World Heritage Centre, 2021, http://​whc.une​sco.org/​
en/​ten​tati​veli​sts/​6511/​.
16 Rabbat, “Circling the Square”, 187.
17 Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani, 66.
18 M. Elshahed, “Revolutionary Modernism? Architecture and the Politics of Transition in
Egypt 1936–​1967” (New York University, 2015), https://​sea​rch.proqu​est.com/​docv​iew/​166​6860​
666?pq-​origs​ite=​gscho​lar&fromo​penv​iew=​true, 176–​177.
19 Y. El Dorghamy, “Tahrir Square: Evolution and Revolution”, Rawi Magazine, 2011, https://​
rawi-​magaz​ine.com/​artic​les/​tah​rirh​isto​rey/​.
20 Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir”, 144–​145; and Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi
Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani, 75; and Elshahed, “Revolutionary Modernism? Architecture and the
Politics of Transition in Egypt 1936–​1967”, 194.
21 Elshahed, “Revolutionary Modernism? Architecture and the Politics of Transition in Egypt
1936–​1967”, 194–​196.
22 N. AlSayyad, Cairo. [Electronic Resource]: Histories of a City (Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press
of Harvard University Press, 2011), http://​sea​rch.ebscoh​ost.com/​login.aspx?dir​ect=​true&db=​
cat016​84a&AN=​njit.394​280&site=​eds-​live, 244.
23 “Arab League Headquarters”, riadarchitecture, accessed March 19, 2021, www.riada​rchi​tect​
ure.com/​ara​blea​gue.
24 AlSayyad, Cairo, 238.
25 F. Dakhlallah, “The League of Arab States and Regional Security: Towards an Arab Security
Community?”, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 39, no. 3 (2012): 393–​412, https://​doi.
org/​10.1080/​13530​194.2012.726​489.
26 Mahmoud Riad, “Erasing History: Why Demolishing the NDP Building Is a Mistake”, Mada
Masr, 2015, www.madam​asr.com/​en/​2015/​05/​31/​opin​ion/​u/​eras​ing-​hist​ory-​why-​demo​lish​ing-​
the-​ndp-​build​ing-​is-​a-​mist​ake/​.
27 M. Z. Wise, “THINK TANK; A Cold-​War Weapon Disguised as a Place to Spend the Night”,
The New York Times, July 21, 2001, sec. Books, www.nyti​mes.com/​2001/​07/​21/​books/​think-​
tank-​a-​cold-​war-​wea​pon-​disgui​sed-​as-​a-​place-​to-​spend-​the-​night.html.
28 A. J. Wharton, Building the Cold War: Hilton International Hotels and Modern Architecture
(Chicago: University of Chicago, 2001), 87.

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Tahrir Square: The Roundabout and the History of Modern Cairo

29 Y. Elsheshtawy, “Planning Perspectives City Interrupted: Modernity and Architecture in

Nasser’s Post-​1952 Cairo”, 2012, www.acade​mia.edu/​31012​111/​Planning_​Perspectives_​City_​
interrupted_​modernity_​and_​architecture​_​in_​Nass​ers_​post​_​195​2_​Ca​iro, 7.
30 Wharton, Building the Cold War, 18–​21.
31 Elshahed, Cairo since 1900: An Architectural Guide, 91.
32 Al-​Hadidi, Dirasat Fi Al-​Tatawor Al-​’umrani, 75.
33 Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir”, 147–​148.
34 A. Said, “We Ought to Be Here: Historicizing Space and Mobilization in Tahrir Square”,
International Sociology 30, no. 4 (July 1, 2015): 348–​366, https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​02685​8091​4551​
306, 354–​355; Rabbat, “Circling the Square”, 185.
35 Owen, “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir”, 143.
36 Rabbat, “Circling the Square”, 184.
37 H. Salama, “Tahrir Square: A Narrative of a Public Space”, International Journal of Architectural
Research, no. 1 (2013), https://​arch​net.org/​publi​cati​ons/​6928, 132–​133.
38 N. AlSayyad, “Cairo’s Roundabout Revolution”, New York Times, 2011; Eyal Weizman, The
Roundabout Revolutions (Sternberg Press, 2019), https://​mitpr​ess.mit.edu/​books/​rou​ndab​out-​
revo​luti​ons.
39 Weizman, The Roundabout Revolutions, 29–​30.
40 M. Foucault, The Foucault Reader (Pantheon Books, 1984), 206–​212.
41 Weizman, The Roundabout Revolutions, 44.
42 N. AlSayyad and Muna Guvenc, “Virtual Uprisings: On the Interaction of New Social Media,
Traditional Media Coverage and Urban Space during the ‘Arab Spring’ ”, Urban Studies 52,
no. 11 (August 1, 2015): 2018–​2034, https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​00420​9801​3505​881.
43 M. Castells, Networks of Outrage and Hope: Social Movements in the Internet Age (John Wiley
& Sons, 2015), 21.
44 N. AlSayyad, “The Virtual Square: Urban Space, Media, and the Egyptian Uprising –​
ProQuest”, Harvard International Review 34, no. 1 (2012): 58–​63.
45 McKenzie Wark, Virtual Geography: Living with Global Media Events, American first edition
(Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1994), 103.
46 Ibid., 114.
47 Ibid., 147–​150.
48 Castells, Networks of Outrage and Hope, 10–​11.
49 Youm7, Shahid all midan al-​Tahrir, 2019, 7, www.yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​9EkT​p4T4​i1U.
50 M. Marie, “All You Need to Know about Renovating Tahrir Square”, Egypt Today, December
30, 2019, www.egy​ptto​day.com/​Arti​cle/​4/​79190/​All-​you-​need-​to-​know-​about-​ren​ovat​ing-​Tah​
rir-​Squ​are.
51 “PM Unveils Plan to Renovate Cairo’s Historic Tahrir Square”, EgyptToday, August 18, 2019,
www.egy​ptto​day.com/​Arti​cle/​1/​73967/​PM-​unve​ils-​plan-​to-​renov​ate-​Cairo-​s-​histo​ric-​Tah​rir-​
squ​are.
52 M. Ibrahim, June 2020, www.dos​tor.org/​3109​079. Tahrir musamm balshan.
53 M. AbdelDayem, Tahrir Square 2019 redesign, March 23, 2021.
54 N. Ebrahim, “Egyptian Mummies Paraded through Cairo on Way to New Museum”, Reuters,
April 4, 2021, www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​egypt-​anti​quit​ies-​con​voy-​idUSKB​N2BQ​04T.
55 A.H. Diab, “Sour tarasoud tatweer midan and at-​Tahrir10”, April 3, 2021, sec. www.elwa​tann​
ews.com/​news/​deta​ils/​5413​004.

All images are public domain commons; images by author are identified.

References
AbdelDayem, M. (2021), Tahrir Square 2019 redesign.
Abu-​Lughod, J.L. (1971), Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious. Princeton University Press.
Al-​
Hadidi, F. (2017), Dirasat Fi Al-​ Tatawor Al-​ ’umrani Lemadinat Alqahera. Cairo: General
Egyptian Book Organization.
AlSayyad, N. (2011), Cairo. [Electronic Resource]: Histories of a City. Cambridge, MA: Belknap
Press of Harvard University Press. http://​sea​rch.ebscoh​ost.com/​login.aspx?dir​ect=​true&db=​
cat016​84a&AN=​njit.394​280&site=​eds-​live.

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—​—​—​. (2011), “Cairo’s Roundabout Revolution.” New York Times.

—​—​—​. (2012), “The Virtual Square: Urban Space, Media, and the Egyptian Uprising –​ProQuest.”
Harvard International Review 34, no. 1, 58–​63.
AlSayyad, N., and Guvenc, M. (2015), “Virtual Uprisings: On the Interaction of New Social
Media, Traditional Media Coverage and Urban Space during the ‘Arab Spring.’” Urban Studies
52, no. 11, 2018–​2034. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​00420​9801​3505​881.
Castells, M. (2015), Networks of Outrage and Hope: Social Movements in the Internet Age. John
Wiley & Sons.
Dakhlallah, F. (2012), “The League of Arab States and Regional Security: Towards an Arab
Security Community?” British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 39, no. 3, 393–​412. https://​doi.
org/​10.1080/​13530​194.2012.726​489.
Dawood, A. (2010), “Failure to Engage: The Breasted-​Rockefeller Gift of a New Egyptian Museum
and Research Institute at Cairo (1926).” Thesis, Massachusetts Institute of Technology. https://​
dsp​ace.mit.edu/​han​dle/​1721.1/​59109.
Diab, A.H. (2021) ‫ صور ترصد تطوير ميدان التحرير الشاهد على مصر‬10 :‫ هكذا كان وهكذا أصبح‬April 3, 2021, sec.
‫مصر‬. www.elwa​tann​ews.com/​news/​deta​ils/​5413​004.
Ebrahim, N. (2021), “Egyptian Mummies Paraded through Cairo on Way to New Museum.”
Reuters, April 4, 2021. www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​egypt-​anti​quit​ies-​con​voy-​idUSKB​N2BQ​04T.
EgyptToday. (2019), “PM Unveils Plan to Renovate Cairo’s Historic Tahrir Square”, August 18.
www.egy​ptto​day.com/​Arti​cle/​1/​73967/​PM-​unve​ils-​plan-​to-​renov​ate-​Cairo-​s-​histo​ric-​Tah​rir-​
squ​are.
El Dorghamy, Y. (2011), “Tahrir Square: Evolution and Revolution.” Rawi Magazine. https://​rawi-​
magaz​ine.com/​artic​les/​tah​rirh​isto​rey/​.
Elshahed, M. (2020), Cairo since 1900: An Architectural Guide. Cairo: The American University in
Cairo Press.
—​—​—​. (2015), “Revolutionary Modernism? Architecture and the Politics of Transition in Egypt
1936–​1967.” New York University. https://​sea​rch.proqu​est.com/​docv​iew/​166​6860​666?pq-​origs​
ite=​gscho​lar&fromo​penv​iew=​true.
Elsheshtawy, Y. (2012) “Planning Perspectives City Interrupted: Modernity and Architecture
in Nasser’s Post-​ 1952 Cairo.” www.acade​mia.edu/​31012​111/​Planning_​Perspectives_​City_​
interrupted_​modernity_​and_​architecture​_​in_​Nass​ers_​post​_​195​2_​Ca​iro.
Foucault, M. (1984), The Foucault Reader. Pantheon Books.
Ibrahim, M. (2020), “‫” جريدة الدستور‬.»‫ حوَّلناه إلى «متحف مفتوح‬:‫ مصمم الشكل الجديد للميدان‬..»‫معجزة «التحرير‬, June
2020. www.dos​tor.org/​3109​079.
Marie, M. (2019), “All You Need to Know about Renovating Tahrir Square.” Egypt Today,
December 30, 2019. www.egy​ptto​day.com/​Arti​cle/​4/​79190/​All-​you-​need-​to-​know-​about-​ren​
ovat​ing-​Tah​rir-​Squ​are.
Owen, R.E. (1997), “The Metamorphosis of Cairo’s Midan al-​Tahrir as Public Space: 1870–​1970.”
Harvard Middle Eastern & Islamic Review 4, no. 1–​2, 138–​163.
Rabbat, N. (2011), “Circling the Square.” Artforum International 49, no. 8, 182–​191.
riadarchitecture. “Arab League Headquarters.” Accessed March 19, 2021. www.riada​rchi​tect​ure.
com/​ara​blea​gue.
Riad, M. (2015), “Erasing History: Why Demolishing the NDP Building Is a Mistake.” Mada Masr.
www.madam​asr.com/​en/​2015/​05/​31/​opin​ion/​u/​eras​ing-​histo​rey-​why-​demo​lish​ing-​the-​ndp-
build​ing-​is-​a-​mist​ake/​.
Said, A. (2015), “We Ought to Be Here: Historicizing Space and Mobilization in Tahrir Square.”
International Sociology 30, no. 4, 348–​366. https://​doi.org/​10.1177/​02685​8091​4551​306.
Salama, H. (2013), “Tahrir Square: A Narrative of a Public Space.” International Journal of
Architectural Research, no. 1. https://​arch​net.org/​publi​cati​ons/​6928.
Todd, K. (1988), “A History of Roundabouts in the United States and France.” Transportation
Quarterly 42, no. 4. https://​trid.trb.org/​view/​289​521.
UNESCO World Heritage Centre. (2021), “Egyptian Museum in Cairo”, http://​whc.une​sco.org/​en/​
ten​tati​veli​sts/​6511/​.
Volait, M. (2003), “Making Cairo Modern (1870–​1950): Multiple Models for a ‘European-​Style’
Urbanism.” In Urbanism: Imported or Exported? Chichester, England: Wiley Academy.
Wark, McK. (1994), Virtual Geography: Living with Global Media Events. American first edition.
Bloomington: Indiana University Press.

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Weizman, E. (2019), The Roundabout Revolutions. Sternberg Press. https://​mitpr​ess.mit.edu/​books/​

rou​ndab​out-​revo​luti​ons.
Wharton, A.J. (2001), Building the Cold War: Hilton International Hotels and Modern Architecture.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
Wise, M.Z. (2001), “THINK TANK; A Cold-​War Weapon Disguised as a Place to Spend the
Night.” The New York Times, July 21, 2001, sec. Books. www.nyti​mes.com/​2001/​07/​21/​books/​
think-​tank-​a-​cold-​war-​wea​pon-​disgui​sed-​as-​a-​place-​to-​spend-​the-​night.html.
Youm7. (2019), Midan al-​Tahrir fi Eid, 2019. www.yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​9EkT​p4T4​i1U.

159
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PART 2

Representations
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10
THE SKYLINES OF CAIRO
A Photographic Essay

Karim Badr

This visual essay of twenty sequenced urban photographs interrogates the rich imagery
of Cairo and its transformation from old historic core to a modern city. This photog-
raphy of Cairo skylines, taken over a two-year period, was shot mainly from elevated
locations including the Cairo Tower, the Citadel, the Mukatam Hills, and from several
minarets in the Medieval City. This sequence of photographs starts with the view of the
Great Pyramid in the background to present more panoramic scenes of the whole city,
with its modern towers on its skyline. The photographs are also organized in a manner
where each successive photograph shows at least one single structure from the one before
it, allowing one to take a visual tour around the city.

Figure 10.1 Cairo in the foreground with the Giza pyramids in the background. (From the
Cairo Tower)

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-12 163

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Karim Badr

Figure 10.2 The Giza pyramids appear at top right with the Medieval city underneath, marked
by the Bab Zuweila minarets at the far left. (From the minaret of Amir Qijmas madrasa)

Figure 10.3 The citadel at top left towering over Medieval Cairo with the Sultan Hassan
complex appearing at the far right. (From minaret of Al-​Moayad mosque)

164
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The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay

Figure 10.4 The skyline of the Sultan Hassan complex, one of the most significant buildings in
the Medieval city. (From the Hattaba hill)

Figure 10.5 Minarets appear together in a harmony, including those of the Sultan Hassan
complex and the newly restored minarets Umm Al Sultan Shaaban and Khayerbek. (From Al
Azhar park)

165
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Karim Badr

Figure 10.6 Enter Medieval Cairo as seen from the Al-​Hakim Fatimid mosque at the northern
edge of the Medieval city. In the middle appears the complex of Sultan Qalawoun at the center in
the Medieval city. (From Al-​Hakim minaret)

Figure 10.7 The complex of Sultan Qalawoun appears top left, with the Al-​Ghuri complex in the
middle. (From the minaret of Sultan Al Moayad)

166
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The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay

Figure 10.8 The citadel appears towering over the Medieval city, the Sultan Hassan complex
and the Intercontinental Hotel. The old city fades amidst the new modern high rises. (From the
Cairo Tower)

Figure 10.9 The minarets of the Sultan Hassan complex and the Amir Sheikhu complex still
dominate the scene as the city turns modern. (From Ibn Tulun mosque)

167
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Karim Badr

Figure 10.10 The minarets of the Amir Sheikhu madrassa and the Sultan Hassan complex.
(From the Ibn Tulun mosque)

Figure 10.11 The minarets and domes of the Cairo cemetery rise in the foreground above the
slums of the city. (From the citadel)

168
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The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay

Figure 10.12 The Cairo cemetery, which used to be outside the city, is now surrounded by the
city and its traffic. (From the citadel)

Figure 10.13 Al Mukattam Hills and the historic mosque of Al-​Khalwaty in the background
with the buildings and roads of the modern city in the foreground. (From the citadel)

169
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Karim Badr

Figure 10.14 Al Mukattam Hills and the urban expansion that invaded the Cairo desert. (From
the Cairo Tower)

Figure 10.15 Modern Cairo showing the Museum of Antiquities on Tahrir square in the lower
middle and office buildings of downtown hiding the dome of Sultan Qalawoun in the Medieval
city. (From the Cairo Tower)

170
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The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay

Figure 10.16 The Ramses Hilton on the left and the Museum of Antiquities on the right with
the Six of October bridge and highway in between. (From the Cairo Tower)

Figure 10.17 The Nile river divides the modern metropolis into the Cairo and Giza
Governorates; the citadel appears top right behind the hotels of the modern city with Tahrir
Square at center left. (From the Cairo tower)

171
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Karim Badr

Figure 10.18 On the Nile looking from the Island of Zamalek showing the Ministry of Foreign
Affairs building and the Cairo World Trade Center as the tallest high-​rises on this skyline. (From
the Cairo tower)

Figure 10.19 On the Nile looking south of Cairo toward Giza showing the Cairo Opera House
in the middle bottom and the Sheraton Hotel top right. (From the Cairo Tower)

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The Skylines of Cairo: A Photographic Essay

Figure 10.20 The different layers of Cairo’s urban fabric of the cemetery in the foreground
and in the middle appears the Medieval city with its minarets, and the city’s modern buildings
in the background, forming the current skyline of the city. (Fom Al-​Khalwaty mosque at the
Mukattam Hills)

173
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11
THE EARLIEST IMAGES
OF CAIRO’S ISLAMIC
ARCHITECTURE
Doris Behrens-​Abouseif

Egypt occupies a major place in the Western scholarly and artistic representation of
the Middle East, hence its significance as well in the study of Orientalism in its various
aspects. Unlike other areas of colonial hegemony, however, the reception of Egypt is
rooted in a tradition that precedes by far colonial culture, being rather rooted in antiquity
and having evolved over the ages along with the evolution of European culture itself.
Egypt’s ancient civilization and her geographic position have integrated her in Europe’s
very self-​understanding, including her in its culture and cultural memory in the same
manner as Greece and the Bible.1 With the Greek and Roman conquests, a European
reception of Egypt was established with its own artistic expressions of Orientalism and
Egyptomania. This tradition, furthermore consolidated by the presence of Egypt in
the Bible, is mirrored in the plethora of Egypt travelogues since the Middle Ages, not-
ably the accounts of pilgrims to the Holy Land, a subject about which much has been
and is being written.2 Before the age of discoveries, pilgrimage to the Holy Land was a
major occasion of peaceful encounter between Europe and the Arab world. Pre-​modern
travelers came looking for biblical sites and antiquity; however, their passage through
Cairo was an overwhelming experience to many. The capital of the Mamluk sultanate
(1250–​1517) with its wealth of princely architecture and its worldwide commercial and
diplomatic network was commonly described in the late Middle Ages and Renaissance
as the largest city in the world, stimulating in its own right interest and fascination. In
a previous work, I looked at the gradual evolution of Cairo’s Islamic architecture in the
accounts of European travelers and explorers towards what became in the late nineteenth
century an academic discipline of history of Islamic art and architecture.3 The present
chapter focuses on the pre-​modern reception of Cairo from the perspective of pictorial
documentation.
Although an enormous amount of literary descriptions of Cairo were available by the
end of the fifteenth century, the Egyptian capital was not among the first Middle East
subjects to be depicted in European books and works of art. Jerusalem was there first.
The pilgrimage account by the German cleric and politician Bernhard von Breydenbach
in 1483, which provided one of the most informative descriptions of the Mamluk capital
from that period, was among the first printed books to be illustrated.4 Its illustrations

174 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-13

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

drawn by the Dutch artist Erhard Reuwich included a panorama of Jerusalem, a view
of the church of the Holy Sepulcher and a map of sacred geography representing Egypt
with the Nile between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean. Apart from a few drawings of
costumed figures representing distinctive social groups, the book did not include images
from Cairo. As noted by Julian Raby, Venetian Orientalist paintings of the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries also show for pictorial hagiographies of Oriental settings architectural
motifs from the Holy Land and Syria rather than from Cairo.5 Even the well-​documented
painting showing the reception of a Venetian embassy at the court of Sultan al-​Ghawri
in Cairo in the early sixteenth century,6 by an anonymous artist of Bellini’s school, was
rendered in a Damascene rather than the Cairene architectural environment where it
belongs.7 Yet, at that time narratives on the Egyptian capital and its monuments existed
in large numbers and with increasing information and accuracy. This discrepancy may be
attributed to the difficulty for artists to work at ease in the overwhelming environment of
Cairo’s crowded streets and the sultan’s chaperones everywhere.
In the early fourteenth century, during the reign of al-​Nasir Muhammad, the fascin-
ation with Mamluk Cairo and its grandeur was already expressed even by clerics, some of
whom provided interesting details. In 1323 the Irish clergyman Simon Simeonis praised
Cairo’s wealth and the grandeur of its Citadel. He gave a rare and valuable descrip-
tion of a hippodrome equipped with a loggia where the ladies of the court could watch
tournaments in which sultan al-​ Nasir Muhammad performed in front of cheering
spectators.8 Also during this sultan’s reign, in 1335, James of Verona mentioned Cairo’s
cemeteries with their mausoleums gilded and painted and lavishly decorated with precious
marbles, the likes of which he had never seen before. A few decades later, in 1395–​1396
during Barquq’s reign, the French aristocrat Ogier d’Anglure praised Cairo, its Citadel
and its numerous mosques and baths. He admired the mosques for their marble dec-
oration and their multitude of lamps, noting at the same time their lack of images. He
referred to the royal monuments in the neighborhood of the Citadel and specifically to
a great square with a Sultan’s mosque, without naming it, the mosque of Sultan Hasan
built three decades earlier.9 D’Anglure provides further interesting and rare information,
obtained from his dragoman, saying that the sultan used to send his masons to extract
building material from the ancient monuments of Giza, awarding them with a third of
the value of the extracted stones.10 Considering the building boom during al-​Nasir’s
reign, this information is quite plausible. Although Arabic chronicles report that al-​Nasir
ordered granite columns to be carried from Upper Egyptian temples to his monuments
at the Citadel, to this day there is no reference in the known texts to his quarrying activity
in Giza as Salah al-​Din had done earlier on a big scale.
Although he was a cleric with a Crusader agenda, Breydenbach described Cairo in
enthusiastic terms. He was impressed by the size of the sultans’ residence at the Citadel
and reckoned that Cairo had more mosques with high towers than there were ever
churches built in Rome. He admired the panorama of Cairo from the Muqattam hill
and the recently built mosque of Sultan Qaytbay in the cemetery with its finely crafted
minaret. He noted the lavish marble decoration of the steam-​bath (hammam) he enjoyed
visiting and described carefully a poultry hatchery for which Egypt had been famous
since Antiquity.11 The Flemish merchant and patrician Anselmo Adorno gave in 1471
a rare description of the golden barge, the dhahabiyya, used by the sultan or one of his
emirs for the Opening of the Canal to celebrate the flood, which he vividly describes
while also referring to the Nilometer.12 Besides the outstanding accounts with individual

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

observations, even the conventional and often repetitive mass literature of travelogues
provides in its own way an interesting image of Cairo and its monuments which reveals
how the traditional Christian reception of Egypt gradually adapted to what Mamluk
Cairo revealed.
The obsession with the Nile was one of the main themes in this tradition. Herodotus’s
description of Egypt as a gift of the Nile, Ptolemy’s geography, the Nilotic landscapes
in Roman art which were eventually “Christianized” in medieval Christianity when the
Nile was regarded as one of the four rivers of paradise and its flood a symbol of God’s
creation of the world eventually associated with baptism,13 and most of all the roles
of the Nile in the biblical narratives of Moses and Joseph account for the travelers’
lengthy descriptions of the river and the wonder of its yearly flood. Buildings related
to the Nile, such as the Nilometer on the island of Rawda,14 the great aqueduct of al-​
Nasir Muhammad15 and Salah al-​Din’s well at the Citadel, were therefore major tour-
istic attractions and among the earliest and most frequent subjects to be documented
and illustrated in travelogues.
In 1421 Ghillebert de Lannoy, a French aristocrat and diplomat, wrote about the Nile
and described the Nilometer,16 its function and its association with the flood festival.
The celebration of the flood with the Opening of Cairo’s canal echoed ancient Egyptian
famous traditions. Described in detail by many travelers as the major and most spec-
tacular of all festivities in pre-​modern Cairo, this festival was an official event for its
economic and fiscal significance which the sultan himself or one of his major emirs
inaugurated. The festivities, which lasted several days, set out at the moment when the
official reading on the Nilometer column signalled the optimal level reached by the flood,
thus announcing fertility and prosperity for the coming year.
In the Citadel, Salah al-​Din’s well,17 commonly known as Bir Yusuf (Joseph’s Well),
Yusuf being Salah al-​Din’s first name, was attributed by European travelers to the
Patriarch Joseph and, likewise, they called the palace Joseph’s Palace, which was the
Great Iwan built by Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad.18 These were “musts” on the travelers’
itinerary. In the sixteenth century, the Italian Pietro Della Vale noted that people in Cairo
tended to associate major buildings with either Joseph or a Pharaoh.19 He was among
the earliest Europeans to doubt this biblical association. Although Napoleon’s scholars
also mention that Egyptians tended to misattribute these monuments to the patriarch, it
is rather likely that this attribution was made up to address foreigners rather than actual
local belief, for which there is no corroboration in Arabic sources.
Cairo itself, being an Islamic foundation, was not a subject of sacred geography, although
the pyramids, interpreted as the granaries of Joseph, the Matareya garden, known as refuge
for the Holy Family, in addition to the churches of Old Cairo, were all part of Cairo’s
territory. It seems that at some unknown point in the early 15th century, Europeans were
prohibited from entering mosques; however, they were allowed to visit the Citadel with
the Sultan’s palaces and the royal menagerie. This may explain why for a long time only
little attention was dedicated to mosque architecture, although the multitude of Cairo’s
mosques, often reckoned in double-​digit thousands, was repeatedly and indiscriminately
noted by travelers. Rather than the narrow and crowded streets, a panoramic view of the
city from the Muqattam hill offered an easy visual access to the city with the silhouettes of
its multiple minarets protruding on the skyline. Only the monumental mosque of Sultan
Hasan dominating a large square beneath the Citadel earned occasional notice.

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Urban Perspectives
Untill the 17th century the descriptions of Cairo were mainly about its urban features
and landmarks rather than about specific buildings or architectural features. This per-
spective is reflected in the two panoramic views of Cairo drawn in the mid-​sixteenth
century by the Venetians Matteo Pagano and Pellegrino Brocardi, showing Cairo as it
was bequeathed by the Mamluks a couple of decades following their overthrow by the
Ottomans. Slightly earlier, a view of Cairo included by the Ottoman admiral Piri Reis
in his book on navigation published in 152520 (Figure 11.1) was a cartographic work
documenting the city’s geography and the locations of its major landmarks. The shape of
the city, schematically drawn from a north perspective, includes the pyramids, the aque-
duct and its intake, the Nilometer, the Citadel and the mosque of Sultan Hasan facing
it, and the “Tophane” in the northern suburb, which refers to the complex founded by
the emir Yashbak min Mahdi with his domed mosque, later known as the Fadaweya.
Although mosques are depicted schematically as domed buildings, the mosque of Sultan
Hasan stands out with its monumentality and its two minarets flanking a dome with
a unique bulbous profile. In spite of their schematic character, the panoramic views
or vedute by Pagano and Brocardi convey a more elaborate portrait of the city. Both
views were documented with legends based on the wealth of accounts available at the
time. Their accuracy regarding the city’s urban layout is confirmed by their great corres-
pondence with the map of Napoleon’s Description. They also provide some noteworthy
features of Cairo’s architecture.

Matteo Pagano
Matteo Pagano’s view of Cairo (1549) became famous and continued to be reproduced
and reprinted all over Europe until the 18th century.21 It displays the city seen from
the west, with the pyramids in Giza, the aqueduct of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad, the
Citadel and the northern cemetery, the elevated passage built by the emir Yashbak min
Mahdi22 in the northern suburb and the Nilometer marked by a mosque that used to
adjoin it. Most interestingly, the view shows part of the bridge and causeway built by
Salah al-Din’s vizier Qaraqush to connect the Giza plateau with Fustat. By showing
this building (Figure 11.2), which is missing in Piri Reis’s view, Pagano’s provides rare
information on a remarkable monument of medieval Cairo, which is now lost and for-
gotten. In 1211,ʿAbd al-​Latif al-​Baghdadi compared it with “the work of giants”.23
It was erected by Baha’ al-​Din Qaraqush al-​Asadi, Salah al-​Din’s vizier,24 to facilitate
the transport of building material quarried from small pyramids in Giza for the con-
struction of his Citadel and fortifications. The structure, which according to Maqzizi
was 6 miles (ca. 12 km) long, consisted of two parts supported by massive arcades.
The section that runs across Giza served as an elevated causeway to allow traffic from
the plateau to the Nile shore also when it was submerged during the flood season.
The other section, said to have been supported by 40 arches, served as a bridge across
the Nile. No other stone bridge is known to have been built across the river in pre-​
modern time.
However, in 1200–​1201, after some ill-​advised administrator had the idea of using
the bridge as a dam to block the river in order to conduct the flood water to irrigate

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Figure 11.1 Map of Cairo by Piri Reis.

Wikimedia Commons.

the western bank, the arches could not withstand the pressure of the stream and some
of them collapsed. The bridge was restored a century later in 1308 by Sultan Baybars
al-​Jashnakir and was still in use in Maqrizi’s time in the early fifteenth century. Later
authors do not mention it and it is not clear when it fell into disuse nor is its position
across the Nile known. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries De Maillet

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.2 Detail of Matteo Pagano’s view of Cairo showing the causeway near of Qaraqush
at Giza.
Civitate Orbis Tarrarum by Braun et Hogenberg, 1572. Wikimedia Commons.

and Pococke noticed the arcade in Giza but they mistook it for the ancient Egyptian
causeway mentioned by Herodotus to have been used for the transportation of material
to build the pyramids.25 Frederik Norden26 in the eighteenth century and later the
scholars of the Description de l’Egypte27 published an elevation and a plan of these
arcades accompanied by a short commentary in which they identified it as of Islamic

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Figure 11.3 Plan and elevation of the causeway of Qaraqush at Giza by Frederik Norden,
Travels in Egypt and Nubia (I. pl. XLIV).

origin (Figure 11.3). Napoleon’s scholars even read the inscriptions.28 The Description’s
elevation shows that the arcades resembled those of al-​Nasir Muhammad’s aqueduct,
except that their arches were round instead of pointed, which would conform to Salah
al-​Din’s military architecture. The remains of this building are likely to have been
dismantled in the following years by Muhammad ʿAli to provide him with building
material. Based on the text read by Niebuhr and Napoleon’s scholars, Van Berchem

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

reconstructed the inscriptions which mention al-​

Nasir and al-​
Ashraf Qaytbay in
connection with restoration works.29

Pellegrino Brocardi
Less famous than Pagano’s view but not less interesting is the watercolor image of Cairo
drawn in 1556 by Pellegrino Brocardi (Figure 11.4).30 Unlike Pagani’s perspective, which
captures the city from the west, Brocardi looks at it from the Muqattam hill in the east,
where he also depicts himself at work! His view does not include Giza with the pyramids.
It shows instead the canal of Cairo, the Khalij, clearly visible with several bridges. At the
southern tip of the island of Rawda, a prominent structure represents the Nilometer.
Thanks to his realism, Brocardi’s panorama provides information of great interest that
has remained so far unnoticed. Seen from the neighborhood of the Citadel, the mosque
of Sultan Hasan appears in the foreground. At that time it had not yet lost either its ori-
ginal dome or its northern minaret. Brocardi depicts the two minarets as being of unequal
size, as we see them today with the northern minaret built in 1671–​1672 to replace the
original one that collapsed in 1659. His drawing confirms that the original minaret, which
was described by a Mamluk historian as looking different from the southern one, must
have been also smaller. This feature could only be guessed by the actual unequal size of
the buttresses.31 Although Brocardi’s drawing shows Sultan Hasan’s dome as bulbous,

Figure 11.4 Detail of Pellegrino Brocardi’s view of Cairo showing the island of Rawda and the
aqueduct of al-​Nasir Muhammad with its intake.
Archivio di Stato di Torino (Prot. N.474.IX/​4.1), Carte Topographiche & Fortificazione (J.b.I.),
vol. II, fol. 10.

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the fact that other domes in his panorama have a similar profile does not confirm the
uniqueness of Sultan Hasan’s dome. One may speculate that the artist could have had
Sultan Hasan’s dome in mind while he was drawing the city. The original dome was
admired and described in 1616 by Pietro Della Valle, who noticed that it was unlike any
other, having the shape of an egg swelling above the narrow base and contracting towards
the top.32 This extraordinary feature had been already recorded on Piri Reis’s view but in
no other written source. However, art historical studies on the architecture of the period
confirm the credibility of the dome of Sultan Hasan having a bulbous profile, which was
untypical in Mamluk architecture.33
Brocardi’s panorama shows very clearly the monumental polygonal intake of al-​Nasir
Muhammad’s aqueduct and the aqueduct itself following a serpentine trajectory between
the Nile and the quarter below the Citadel. In the northern outskirt, a walled garden
with a building is labeled al-​Ghawri’s palace. Even after the Ottoman conquest of Egypt
in 1517 and the degradation of Cairo’s status to a province in the Ottoman Empire, the
Egyptian capital as a major Islamic metropolis continued to be a subject of interest and
scholarly attention. The account of the Polish-​Lithuanian Prinz Radzivil of his visit
in 1582 in the course of his pilgrimage dedicates particular attention to contemporary
subjects and to Cairo’s Islamic monuments. He names the Azhar mosque, the mosque
of al-​Ashraf Barsbay at Bayn al-​Qasrayn in connection with the parade of the captured
king of Cyprus, the mosque at Bab Zuwayla, meaning that of al-​Mu’ayyad Shaykh, the
mosque of Sultan Hasan and others, as well as the hospital of Qalawun.34 He refers
to the Nilometer and the palace nearby built by Sultan al-​Ghawri,35 the aqueduct and
Salah al-​Din’s well at the Citadel, attributing the latter along with the Great Iwan to the
biblical figure Joseph. His description of a hippodrome in the north-​eastern suburb of
Cairo is of documentary interest. This monument, which is regularly mentioned in the
Mamluk chronicles since the reign of Sultan Barquq as “birds feeding ground” (matʿam
al-​tayr), disappeared shortly after Radzivil saw it. It seems to have been a remarkable
structure with accommodations for spectators to watch parades, tournaments and spe-
cial events. Radzivil also gave a detailed description of a palace built nearby during the
reign of Qaytbay but attributed to Sultan al-​Ghawri, as also marked on Brocardi’s view.
The pleasance complex which included a small domed mosque had been built by the emir
Yashbak min Mahdi during the reign of Sultan Qaytbay and later appropriated by Sultan
al-​Ghawri.36
A substantial lore of traveler accounts were already available when the next generation
of explorers began to add their own pictorial contributions. From the 17th century
Egypt was part of exploration tours, often sponsored by princely or academic patrons,
that encompassed the provinces of the Ottoman Empire and beyond with the aim of
documenting antiquity and the classical heritage alongside geography and natural his-
tory. In 1681, Cornelius De Bruyn (Corneille Le Brun), a Dutch artist and traveler,
undertook, on his own initiative, an extensive tour that included Egypt.37 His account
contains a wealth of unprecedented and interesting images, such as the first view ever of
the Great Pyramid’s interior along with other antiquities and panoramas. His spectacular
views of Alexandria and its vanished fortifications are forerunners of and comparable
to those of the Description de l’Egypte. His panorama of the city of Damietta shows
the earliest realistic representation of an Egyptian minaret. Other panoramic views of
provincial cities suggest that the Mamluk double-​headed minarets may have been more
widespread than any physical evidence today suggests.38 He writes about the Nile flood

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.5 The pleasance complex attributed to Sultan al-​Ghawri (above) and the intake of
the aqueduct of al-​Nasir Muhammad by Cornelius De Bruyn/​Corneille Le Brun (Voyage au
Levant, I, p. 78).

and the opening of the Cairo Canal without failing to mention the Nilometer. On his way
to Cairo, he depicted the small pleasance complex in the northern outskirt attributed to
Sultan al-​Ghawri (Figure 11.5) which had been noticed and described in detail by earlier
travelers and, notably, Radzivil. It is the only image we have of this complex, which,
except for the small domed mosque, disappeared a long time ago. He also drew a view of
the aqueduct intake at the Citadel, and he was amazed by Salah al-​Din’s well, which he
described as a “world wonder”, and also by the Mamluk palaces there (Figure 11.6). He

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.6 Panorama of Cairo (above) and the upper structure of Salah al-​Din’s well by
Cornelius De Bruyn/​Corneille Le Brun (Voyage au Levant, I, p. 88).

reports that due to the significance of the Citadel for travelers, the Ottomans introduced
an entrance fee for visitors.

De Maillet and Norden

Benoît De Maillet, the French scientist and consul in Egypt during the years 1692–​1708,
wrote the earliest account on Egypt showing academic expertise based on his knowledge

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

of Arabic sources, which provided valuable information on Egypt and on Cairo in

particular, its architecture and material culture. While the description of the Pyramids
occupies the lion’s share of his account, his remarks about the civil and religious archi-
tecture of Cairo are the most detailed and discerning so far. As a consul he was able to
enter the mosques, of which he gives a general description. He expresses much admir-
ation for the art and architecture of the palaces and mosques, the masonry of the
Mamluk domes and their carved decoration, adding that “there is none that does not
deserve a special mention”.39 Also he writes extensively about the Nile and its flood and
describes the Nilometer on the island of Rawda, providing for the first time a basic plan
of its interior (Figure 11.7).40 It is, however, the only illustration in the book dealing
with an Islamic monument, all others being dedicated to antiquity subjects. De Maillet
recognized that “Joseph’s Well” was not dug by the patriarch Joseph, but by a Mamluk
patron,41comparing it to other impressive wells he saw in Cairo. Likewise, he identified
“Joseph’s”palace as a medieval Islamic building.42
A less academic account is that of the antiquarian Paul Lucas, who was sent by Louis
XIV to acquire antiquities from Egypt, the Levant and Iran. He traveled several times
and was among the first to report on Upper Egypt. His account was published in several
editions, the earliest in 1714.43 In the 1720 edition the description is accompanied by a

Figure 11.7 Drawing of the Nilometer (De Maillet, Description, I, p. 66).

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.8 Section of Salah al-​Din’s well by Paul Lucas (1720).

Aikatrini Lakaridis Foundation, (https://​eng.trav​elog​ues.gr/​page.php?view=​86.

drawing of Salah al-​Din’s well at the Citadel (Figure 11.8). Lucas admired this technical
achievement as well as that of al-​Nasir Muhammad palace, adding without comment
that they were generally attributed to Joseph.44 His book also includes a sketch of the
Nilometer very similar to that in De Maillet’s book.

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.9 View of the island of Rawda with the Nilometer by Frederik Norden (Travels in
Egypt and Nubia, I, pl. XXIII).

Contemporaneously in 1737–​1738, the Danish captain and explorer Frederik Norden,

who was the first to explore Nubia and Sudan, dedicated numerous panoramic views
to Alexandria, one of which shows Qaytbay’s Fort. In Cairo, his panoramas, which
were mostly viewed from the perspective of a navigator on the Nile, depict some indi-
vidual monuments such as the mosque of Athar al-​Nabi at Fustat. The Nilometer
appears on two of his panoramic views and is furthermore documented with an elevation
(Figures 11.9 and 11.10). Norden wrote a description of the festival of the Opening
of the Canal which he illustrated with the earliest known picture of a festival in Cairo.45
His example was followed slightly later by Cassas, with a wedding procession, and
Napoleon’s Description, with its own image of the Nile festival near the intake of the
aqueduct.46 Norden’s account also includes a description with a plan and an elevation of
“Joseph’s well” without comment on its origin.47 He is one of the rare eyewitness sources
on Qaraqush’s arcaded causeway of Giza (Figures 11.3 and 11.11) . He was the only one
to define its location and the first to recognize its Islamic origin. The causeway appears
as two separate segments seen at a distance on his famous panorama of the Pyramids.48
Norden, like many others before and after him, included a drawing of the poultry hatch-
eries for which Egypt had been uniquely famous since antiquity. .

Richard Pococke
In 1743, with a ground plan of the mosque, that of ʿAmr ibn al-​ʿAs, the British cler-
gyman Richard Pococke was the first to survey a religious building and the first to refer
to the Fatimid gates with a plan and elevation of Bab al-​Futuh, which he mistook for Bab
al-​Nasr.49 The Fatimid fortifications had so far escaped the attention of earlier travelers,
being encroached upon by later buildings and concealed within the expanded city.

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.10 Section of the Nilometer by Frederik Norden (Travels in Egypt and Nubia, I,
pl. XXVI).

Pococke also included a plan and elevation of the Nilometer, the intake of the aqueduct
and Salah al-​Din’s well with a view of its exterior to illustrate his extensive description
of it, and the palace of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel (Figures 11.12, 11.13, 11.14
and 11.15). Following de Maillet, Pococke and others no longer associated Salah al-​Din’s
well and al-​Nasir’s Great Iwan with the biblical Joseph, but attributed them rather to the
reign of al-​Nasir Muhammad.

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.11 View of the pyramids with the causeway of Qaraqush on the right by Frederik
Norden (Travels in Egypt and Nubia, I. pl. XLII).

Figure 11.12 Plan and elevation of Bab al-​Futuh by Richard Pococke (A Description, I, p. 32).

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.13 Plan and elevation of the aqueduct intake of al-​Nasir Muhammad by Richard
Pococke (A Description, I, p. 17).

Louis Francois Cassas

The earliest images to combine documentation with artistic appreciation for Cairo’s
Islamic architecture were created by the French artist and architect Louis Francois
Cassas. He was sent by the French ambassador in Istanbul to depict sites of the Ottoman
Empire and visited Egypt in 1785, more than a decade prior to Napoleon’s expedition.
His work was known to Napoleon’s explorers and inspired some of their illustrations.50
Cassas drew several panoramas of Alexandria and Cairo and was the first to depict the
mosque of Sultan Hasan, both in a panoramic view and in a view of the portal, and

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.14 Plan and elevation of Salah al-​Din’s well by Richard Pococke (A Description, I,
p. 33).

the Bayn al-​Qasrayn street with the complex of Qalawun and the madrasa of al-​Zahir
Baybars, now vanished (Figures 11.16 and 11.17). In Alexandria, his view of the now
vanished Rosetta gate reveals its great resemblance to Bab al-​Futuh, suggesting that it
was probably part of the Fatimid fortification works. The plates with Qaytbay’s fort in
Alexandria and Bab al-​Futuh with the Mamluk minaret of Emir Baybars al-​Jashnakir
at the mosque of al-​Hakim in the background combine documentary precision with art-
istic accomplishment (Figure 11.18). His unpublished drawings and studies of Cairo’s

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.15 Plan and elevation of the Great Iwan at the Citadel by Richard Pococke
(A Description, I, p. 34).

Islamic architecture, such as his studies of minarets51 or his sketch of the Great Iwan of
al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel (Figure 11.19), reveal the architect’s acumen. Cassas
also depicted a procession of the Pasha or Ottoman governor entering Cairo in a spec-
tacular and dramatic mise-​en-​scène (Figure 11.20). Whether the mosque in the back-
ground of the procession is real or a fantasy compilation is difficult to tell; no extant
mosque of this configuration is known. However, in his eye-​witness report, Jabarti writes
that Napoleon’s soldiers demolished the handsome mosque built by the Mamluk sultan

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.16 Sketch with a view of the Bayn al-​Qasrayn street above and a study of portals, by
Louis François Cassas.
Wallraff-​Richarts Museum, Graphische Sammlung inv. Fonds Hittorf, Egy 19, Cassas-​AL-​400.

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.17 The Mosque of Sultan Hasan by Louis François Cassas (Voyage Pittoresque).

Janbalat (r. 1500–​1501) near the gate of Bab al-​Nasr having two handsome stone domes.
This may be the mosque Cassas depicted with the pasha entering the city through the
northern gate. However, the adjoining minaret rather recalls one near the entrance of
al-​Nasir Muhammad’s mosque at the Citadel.52 The same doubts arise at the sight of his
panorama of the cemetery south of the Citadel (Figure 11.21). Being more of an artist
than an explorer, Cassas did not include hydraulic installation among his images.

Luigi Mayer
Luigi Mayer was contemporaneous with Cassas but, unlike him, he was an artist without
architectural formation. Hired in Rome by the British ambassador Robert Ainslie to
depict sites in the Ottoman Empire,53 he produced a large number of watercolor paintings
of Egypt which were accompanied by an account written by Ainslie. They show antique
sites, panoramas of Cairo and Alexandria, external views of medieval monuments in the
province alongside contemporary subjects such as festivities and genre scenes. Not all his
images are reliable, however; some of them are drawn with a great deal of imagination so
that their subjects cannot be identified. He was the first to depict the Nilometer during the
flood season (Figure 11.22). His view of the Great Iwan of Sultan al-​Nasir Muhammad
at the Citadel lacks the architectural perspective of Cassas’s sketch (Figure 11.23). It is
the earliest image of this monument to be published, preceding those of the Description
and Robert Hay’s. This legendary monument was eventually demolished by Muhammad
ʿAli to make room for his mosque.

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.18 Bab al-​Futuh by Louis François Cassas.

Wallraf-​Richartz-​Museum, Köln, Inv.-​Nr. Hittorff-​Nachlass, Egy. 034. Wikipedia.

Following Pococke’s example, Cassas and Mayer produced their own more
accomplished images of the Fatimid gates Bab al-​Futuh and Bab al-​Nasr respectively
(Figure 11.24).

The Scholars of the French Expedition

A rich lore of descriptions of Egypt paved the way for Napoleon’s Description de
l’Egypte.54 By dedicating the section Etat Moderne to contemporaneous material culture
and to Egypt’s Islamic artistic heritage, the Description was the culmination of
what was already a tradition of Cairo reception, integrating and elaborating upon
knowledge gathered by earlier travelers and explorers referenced in a substantial bibliog-
raphy that also included primary Arabic sources. While revisiting the traditional
travelers’ favorites such as the Nilometer, the aqueduct, Salah al-​Din’s well,55 the Iwan of

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.19 Sketch of the Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel by Louis François
Cassas.
Wallraff-​Richarts Museum, Graphische Sammlung inv. Fonds Hittorf-​Nachlass Egy 18b.

Figure 11.20 Procession of the Pasha into Cairo by Louis François Cassas (Voyage Pittoresque).

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.21 View of the cemetery south of the Citadel by Louis François Cassas.
Wallraff-​Richarts Museum, Graphische Sammlung inv. Fonds Hittorf-​Nachlass Egy 22.

al-​Nasir Muhammad and the mosque of Sultan Hasan, Napoleon’s scholars surveyed
the major Islamic monuments of Egypt, notably in Cairo, with plans and elevations
and detailed studies. Napoleon commissioned Vivant Denon, a prominent artist and
first director of the Louvre Museum, with the illustrations. The artist published his own
illustrated account of his travel in Egypt as a member of the expedition, which predates
the Description. His spectacular illustrations here show a different, more subjective and
expressionistic approach.56
Slightly earlier than Owen Jones’s Alhambra and the revelation of Islamic orna-
mental art to the Western world, Cairo’s place had been integrated into the traditional
reception of Egypt and with it the earliest perception of Islamic art and architec-
ture. A couple of decades following the publication of the Description de l’Egypte, in
1839, the architect Pascal Coste published an album with the title Architecture Arabe
ou Monuments du Kaire, followed shortly afterwards by Prisse d’Avennes’s and Jules
Bourgoin’s studies of ‘Arab Art’.57 When Stanley Lane-​Poole published The Art of the
Saracens in Egypt in 1886 the three French authors were his main references.

A Mamluk Image of Cairene Architecture

With the exception of Piri Reis’s view of Cairo, the earliest images of Cairo’s medieval
architecture were the works of European travelers and explorers. Egypt herself
did not have a noteworthy Islamic tradition of visual documentation and architectural
representations were not among the subjects of illustrated manuscripts. For this reason, it
is worthwhile mentioning here what is to my knowledge the earliest extant illustration of
architecture in Cairo. It is a Mamluk work of decorative art rather than a documentary

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.22 The Nilometer during the flood by Luigi Mayer (Views in Egypt, p. 12).

illustration: a tile belonging to a fifteenth-​century underglaze-​painted ceramic produced

predominantly in Syria, but partly in Cairo as well.58 The main decorative themes of this
production of vessels and tiles were floral motifs mostly inspired by Chinese Ming por-
celain. Among the tiles a few show birds or objects, a ewer or a musical instrument, or
unidentifiable fantasy architectural representations. The tile with the image in question
shows a building, rather a minaret standing near a dome, depicted with realistic features
identifying it as Mamluk. The minaret has a three-​storeyed composition and is crowned
with a bulb above a slender neck. A lamp is suspended from a rod attached to the bulb.
The second and third storeys display different patterns of the decoration; that of the
first storey is concealed by a scratch on the tile surface. The dome near the minaret has a
pointed profile and sits on a high stepped transitional zone. Its surface is decorated with
a geometrical pattern. It carries a finial in the shape of double-​bulb structure surmounted
by a crescent. Although the designs of the dome and the minaret refer clearly to Cairene
rather than Damascene architecture of the Mamluk period, this tile is applied on the
minaret of al-​Qalʿi in Damascus (1470s).59

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Figure 11.23 The Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the Citadel by Luigi Mayer (Views in
Egypt, p. 49).

Figure 11.24 Bab al-​Nasr by Luigi Mayer (Views in Egypt, p. 46).

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

Figure 11.25 Mamluk underglaze-​painted 15th-​century tile at the mosque of al-​Qalʿi in

Damascus.
Courtesy of John Carswell and Arthur Millner.

The minaret of the mosque of al-​Qalʿi is one of the most remarkable in Damascus,
lavishly decorated with carvings, inlays and ceramic elements. This tile is all that remains
from what seems to have been a frieze made to hold two more tiles of this size. Although
the Mamluk tiles decorated with pictorial motifs have been attributed to Cairo, such a
realistic depiction is, to my knowledge, unique. Its faithful rendering of the characteristic
Mamluk composition of minaret and dome in Cairo surpasses even that of the printed
images of the eighteenth century. Its singularity makes the purpose and meaning of this
tile difficult to interpret. Whether it was intended to “portray” a specific monument or
it was initially intended for this particular minaret or it was a haphazard choice or an
addition at a later date, cannot be determined here. In any case, its style dates it to the
same period as the minaret. The unusual subject and remarkable realism of the image,
however, suggest a laudation of Cairo’s architecture. At that time Cairo’s architectural
greatness had become famous worldwide while the millennium-​old European reception
of Egypt was gradually embracing her Islamic legacy in its lore.

Notes
1 Abbas, Amin, Ägyptomanie und Orientalismus, Ägypten in der Deutschen Reiseliteratur (1175–​
1663), Berlin/​Boston 2013, pp. 38–​39, referring to Ian Assman, Ägypten, eine Sinnesgeschichte,
Munich 1995; see Aegyptiaca. Journal of the History of the Reception of Ancient Egypt, biannual
publication since 2017.
2 Studies on travelogues of Egypt are too numerous to be referred to here. See Ann Wolff,
How Many Miles to Babylon. Travels and Adventures to Egypt and Beyond from 1300 to 1640,

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

Liverpool 2003. A broad thematic overview down to the 19th century is presented by Deborah
Manley and Sahar Abdel-​Hakim, Travelling through Egypt from 450 B.C. to the Twentieth
Century, Cairo/​New York, 2004, 2008; Aleya Khattab, Das Ägyptenbild in den deutschsprachigen
Reisebeschreibungen der Zeit von 1285–​1500 (Europäische Hochschulschriften. Reihe 1, Deutsche
Sprache und Literatur), Frankfurt a.M./​Bern 1982.
3 Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, ‘Islamic Architecture from Travelogues to Survey: the Discovery
of Islamic Cairo,’ in: Lexicon. Storie e architettura in Sicilia e nel Mediterraneo, 28 (2019),
pp. 7–​26.
4 Les Saintes Pérégrinations de Bernard De Breydenbach, 1483. Extraits relatifs à l’Égypte suivant
l’édition de 1490 (transl.) F. Arrivaz, Cairo 1904, pp. 45–​56, 58–​61; Elizabeth Ross, Picturing
Experience in the Early Printed Book. Breydenbach’s Peregrinatio from Venice to Jerusalem,
Pennsylvania University Press 2014.
5 A monument with a pair of rounded towers, similar to Bab al-​Futuh, is more likely to recall the
Rosetta gate in Alexandria. Julian Raby, Venice, Dürer and the Oriental Mode, London 1982,
p. 76; Ross, Picturing, pp. 84–​86.
6 Raby, Venice, pp. 55–​63.
7 Ross, Picturing, pp. 143–​156.
8 Symon Semeonis, The Journey of Symon Semeonis from Ireland to the Holy Land,
CELT: Corpus of Electronic Texts: a project of University College, Cork College Road, Cork,
Ireland,www.ucc.ie/​celt (2017).
9 Ogier d’Anglure, le Saint Voyage de Jerusalem 1395, Paris 1858 (repr. London 2017 (Forgotten
Books), pp. 59–​62.
10 D’Anglure, Saint Voyage, p. 165.
11 See above.
12 Itinéraire d’Anselme Adorno en Terre Sainte (1470–​1471), eds. De Heers and G. de Groer, Paris
1978, pp. 205–​207.
13 Miguel John Versluys, Aegyptiaca Romana: Nilotic Scenes and the Roman Views of Egypt,
pp. 237–​299; Hélène Fragaki, ‘Des Topias à l’Utopie: Le Rôle de l’Égypte dans la Peinture
Paysagiste Romaine’, Antike Kunst 51 (2008), pp. 96–​122.
14 K.A.C. Creswell, Early Muslim Architecture, II, Oxford 1932, pp. 200–​202; Behrens-​Abouseif,
Islamic Architecture in Cairo. An Introduction, Leiden/​New York 1989, pp. 50–​51.
15 K.A.C, Creswell, Muslim Architecture of Egypt, 2 vols., Oxford 1952–​1959 (repr. New York
1978) II, pp. 255–​260, includes travelers’ descriptions of the aqueduct.
16 Ghillebert de Lannoy, Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, Voyageur, Diplomate et Moraliste (eds.
Ch. Potvin and J.-​C. Houzeau), Louvain 1878, pp. 123–​129.
17 Taqiyy al-​Dīn Aḥmad al-​Maqrīzī, Kitāb al-​mawāʿiẓ wa ’l-​Iʿtibār bi dhikr al-​khiṭaṭ wa ’l-​āthār,
2 vols., Bulaq, 1306/​1888–​1889; ed. Ayman Fū’ād Sayyid, 4 vols., London 2003, III, pp. 648–​
649; Paul Casanova, “Histoire et Description de la citadelle du Caire”, Mémoires publiés par les
membres de la Mission Archéologique Française au Caire, VI (1891–​1892), pp. 585–​590.
18 Maqrīzī, Khiṭaṭ, III, pp. 659–​663; Casanova, ‘Citadelle’, pp. 629–​635, referring to travelers’
descriptions of the building.
19 Pietro Della Valle, Viaggi di Pietro Della Valle il pellegrino, con minuto ragguaglio di tutte le cose
notabili osservate in essi…, Rome 1650, p. 466.
20 https://​tic​ket.wikime​dia.org/​otrs/​index.pl?Act​ion=​Agen​tTic​ketZ​oom&Ticke​tNum​ber=​20120 ​
2171​0000​834. Viewed 15 September 2020.
21 On this view see the comprehensive study by Nicholas Warner, The True Description Cairo:
A Sixteenth Century Venetian View, 3 vols., Oxford 2006; https://​ima​ges.app.goo.gl/​sqCegP​
5JXV​Rie3​by8.
22 See below note 36.
23 Maqrizi, Khitat, III, pp. 507–​508, based on the account of ʿAbd al-​Laṭīf al-​Baghdādī, Kitāb
al-​Ifādah wa ‘l-​Iʿtibār, Cairo 1286/​1869–​1870, p. 23.
24 Ibn Khallikān, Wafayāt al-​aʿyān wa anbā’ abnā’ al-​zamān (ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās), 6 vols., Beirut
1978, III, pp. 91–​94.
25 Benoît de Maillet and J.-​B. Abbé Le Mascrier, Description de l’Egypte, contenant plusieurs
remarques curieuses sur la géographie ancienne et moderne de ce païs, La Haye, Beauregard,
1740, pp. 220–​221; Richard Pococke, A Description of the East and Some Other Countries,
London 1743, I, pp. 42–​43.

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Doris Behrens-Abouseif

26 Frederik Norden, Travels in Egypt and Nubia (transl. and ed. Peter Templeman), London 1757,
pl. XLII.
27 Description de l’Egypte, E.M. I, p. 21, Figs. 5–​8.
28 Description de l’Egypte, E.M. VII/​2, part 2, p. 748.
29 Max Van Berchem, Matériaux pour un Corpus Inscriptionum Arabicarum. (Mémoires publiés
par les Membres de la Mission Archéologique Française au Caire), XIX/​1–​4, Cairo 1894–​1903,
pp. 465–​472; M. Niebuhr, Travels through Arabia and Other Countries in the East (transl. Robert
Heron), Edinburgh 1792, I, p. 153.
30 The view, now in the State Archive of Turin, was first published by Ludovico Micara, “Il Cairo
nella ‘Chorographia’ di Pellegrino Brocardi”, Storia della Città 46 (1989) (Il Mondo Islamico,
Immagini e Ricerche), pp. 7–​17; Behrens-​Abouseif, ’Islamic Architecture from Travelogues
to Survey’, Fig. 7; Pellegrino Brocardi, ‘Relazione del Cairo’ in: Operette di Jacopo Morelli
Bibliotecario Di San Marco, II, Venice 1820, pp. 62–​85.
31 Behrens-​Abouseif, Cairo of the Mamluks, London 2007, pp. 205–​206.
32 Pietro Della Valle, Viaggi, p. 468.
33 Michael Meinecke, Mamlukische Architektur in Ägypten und Syrien, 2 vols., Mainz 1993, I,
pp. 120–​121.
34 Radzivil, Ierosolymitana peregrinatio illvstrissimi principis Nicolai Christophori Radzivili,
Antwerp 1614, pp. 178–​181.
35 Ierosolymitana peregrination, pp. 157, 185–​186.
36 Doris Behrens-​Abouseif, “A Circassian Mamluk suburb in the Northeast of Cairo”, AARP (Art
and Archeology Research Paper) XIV (1978), pp. 17–​23; idem, “The Northeastern Extension of
Cairo under the Mamluks”, Annales Islamologiques XVII (1981), 157–​189; idem, Cairo of the
Mamluks, pp. 278–​279.
37 Voyage au Levant, c’est-​à-​dire, dans les principaux endroits de l’Asie Mineure, dans les isles de
Chio, Rhodes, et Chypre et.c. …, Paris, Guillaume Cavelier, 1714.
38 Behrens-​Abouseif, ’Islamic Architecture from Travelogues to Survey’, Fig. 11.
39 De Maillet, Description, I, pp. 197–​202 .
40 De Maillet, Description, I, pp. 65–​66.
41 De Maillet, Description, I, pp. 211–​213.
42 De Maillet, Description,II, pp.190–​191.
43 Lucas, Paul, Voyage Du Sieur Paul Lucas au Levant, Paris 1714.
44 Lucas, Voyage, pp. 203–​205.
45 Norden, Travels in Egypt and Nubia, I, pp. 85–​86.
46 Description de l’Egypte, E.M. I, pl. 19
47 Norden, Travels in Egypt and Nubia, I, p. 49, pl. XIX.
48 Norden, Travels in Egypt and Nubia, I, pl. XLII.
49 Pococke, A Description, I, pp. 26–​39.
50 Voyage Pittoresque de la Syrie, de la Phénicie, de la Palestine, et de la Basse Egypte, Paris 1799;
Louis Francois Cassas 1756–​1827. Dessinateur-​Voyageur, Im Banne der Sphinx (exhibition cata-
logue), Mainz 1994; Annie Gilet, L.-​F. Cassas und der Orient, in: Europa und der Orient 800–​
1999 (exhibition catalogue), Berlin 1989, pp. 279–​287; Behrens-​Abouseif, “Between Istanbusl
and Cairo: Louis Francois Cassas and the Panoramic Perspective” in Archaeology and Travelers
in Ottoman Lands, University of Pennsylvania (Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology)
2010, www.ottom​anla​nds.com/​ess​ays/​diplom​acy-​art-​and-​arch​aeol​ogy.
51 Behrens-​Abouseif, The Minarets of Cairo, London 2010, Fig. 47.
52 ʿAbd al-​Raḥmān al-​Jabartī, ʿAjā’ib al-​āthār fī ‘l-​tarājim wa ‘l-​akhbār (ed. ʿAbd al-​Raḥmān ʿAbd
al-​Raḥīm), 4 vols., Cairo 1998, III, p. 259; Muḥammad Ibn Iyās, Badāʾiʿ al-​zuhūr fī waqāʾiʿ al-​
duhūr,(ed. M. Muṣṭafā), Wiesbaden/​Cairo 1961–​1975, IV, pp. 8, 169.
53 Fiona Barnard, “Luigi Mayer, Views in Egypt, 1801”, University of Reading 2007, PDF at
www.read​ing.ac.uk.; Luigi Mayer, Views in Egypt, from the original drawings, in the possession
of Sir Robert Ainslie, taken during his embassy to Constantinople, London 1803.
54 Description de l’Egypte de l’Égypte ou Recueil de observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en
Égypte pendant l’éxpédition de l’armée française /​publié par les ordres de Sa Majesté l’empereur
Napoléon le Grand, Paris: Imprimerie impériale,1809–​1828.
55 There it is wrongly attributed to the reign of al-​Nasir Muhammad.

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The Earliest Images of Cairo’s Islamic Architecture

56 Vivant Denon, Voyage Dans La Basse Et La Haute Égypte, Pendant Les Campagnes Du Général
Bonaparte, Paris 1803.
57 Pascal Coste, Architecture arabe: ou, Monuments du Kaire, mesurés dessinés, de 1818 à 1826,
Paris 1839; Prisse d’Avennes, L’Art Arabe, 3 vols., Paris 1869–​1877 with 200 plates, some of
which are based on photographs by Girault de Prangey; Jules Bourgoin published several studies
among them: Les Arts arabes, architecture, menuiserie, bronzes, plafonds, revêtements, marbres,
vitraux, Paris [1867]–​1873; idem, Précis de l’art arabe et matériaux pour servir à l’histoire, à la
théorie et à la technique des arts de l’Orient musulman (Mémoires publiés par les membres de la
Mission archéologique française au Caire, t. 7, Paris, 1889–​1892. The latter was not yet available
to Lane-​Poole.
58 Michael Meinecke, “Syrian Blue-​ and-​White Tiles of the 9th/​ 15th Century”, Damaszener
Mitteilungen 3 (1988).
59 Arthur Millner, Damascus Tiles, Munich/​London/​New York 2015, pp. 83, 86, 90, Figs. 3.26,
3.27. I am grateful to Arthur Millner and John Carswell who took the photograph, for the per-
mission to publish it here.

Note: Illustrations from Frederick Norden, De Bruyn, De Maillet, Richard Pococke and Luigi
Mayer are copied from old books that are public domain and do not fall under copyright
regulations.

References
ʿAbd al-​Laṭīf al-​Baghdādī, Kitāb al-​Ifādah wa ‘l-​Iʿtibār. Cairo 1286/​1869–​1870.
Adorno, A. (1978). Itinéraire d’Anselme Adorno en Terre Sainte (1470–​1471) (eds. J. Heers and
G. de Groer). Paris.
al-​Maqrīzī, Taqiyy al-​Dīn Aḥmad (2003). Kitāb al-​mawāʿiẓ wa ’l-​Iʿtibār bi dhikr al-​khiṭaṭ wa
’l-​āthār, 2 vols., Bulaq, 1306/​1888-​1889; (ed.) Ayman Fū’ād Sayyid, 4 vols., London.
Amin, A. (2013). Ägyptomanie und Orientalismus, Ägypten in der Deutschen Reiseliteratur, (1175–​
1663). Berlin/​Boston, pp. 38–​39 referring to Ian Assman, Ägypten, eine Sinnesgeschichte,
Munich 1995.
D’Anglure (2017). Le Saint Voyage de Jerusalem 1395, Paris 1858 (repr. London 2017, Forgotten
Books).
Barnard, F. (2007). Luigi Mayer, Views in Egypt, 1801, University of Reading, PDF in www.read​
ing.ac.uk.
Behrens-​Abouseif, D. (2019). Islamic Architecture from Travelogues to Survey: the Discovery of
Islamic Cairo, in Lexicon. Storie e architettura in Sicilia e nel Mediterraneo, 28, pp. 7–​26.
—​—​—​. (2010). Between Istanbusl and Cairo: Louis Francois Cassas and the Panoramic Perspective,
in Archaeology and Travelers in Ottoman Lands. University of Pennsylvania (Museum of
Archaeology and Anthropology), www.ottom​anla​nds.com/​ess​ays/​diplom​acy-​art-​and-​arch​
aeol​ogy.
—​—​—​. (2010). The Minarets of Cairo. London.
—​—​—​. (2007). Cairo of the Mamluks. London.
—​—​—​. (1981). The Northeastern Extension of Cairo under the Mamluks, Annales Islamologiques
XVII, pp. 157–​189.
—​—​—​. (1978). A Circassian Mamluk suburb in the Northeast of Cairo, AARP (Art and Archeology
Research Paper) XIV, pp. 17–​23.
Breydenbach (1483). Les Saintes Pérégrinations de Bernard De Breydenbach., Extraits relatifs à
l’Égypte suivant l’édition de 1490 (transl. F. Arrivaz). Cairo 1904, pp. 45–​56, 58–​61.
Brocardi, P. (1820). Relazione del Cairo, in Jacopo Morelli Operette di Giacomo Morelli Bibliotecario
Di San Marco, II, Venice, pp. 62–​85.
De Bruyn, Cornelius/​Corneille Le Brun. (1714). Voyage au Levant, c’est-​à-​dire, dans les principaux
endroits de l’Asie Mineure, dans les isles de Chio, Rhodes, et Chypre et.c. … Paris, Guillaume
Cavelier.
Casanova, P. (1891-​2). Histoire et Description de la citadelle du Caire, Mémoires publiés par les
membres de la Mission Archéologique Française au Caire, VI.

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Cassas, L.F. (1799). Voyage Pittoresque de la Syrie, de la Phénicie, de la Palestine, et de la Basse

Egypte. Paris.
Creswell, K.A.C. (1932). Early Muslim Architecture, II. Oxford, pp. 200–​202; Behrens-​Abouseif,
Islamic Architecture in Cairo. An Introduction. Leiden/​New York 1989, pp. 50–​51.
—​—​—​. (1978). Muslim Architecture of Egypt, 2 vols. New York (Oxford 1952–​1959).
Della Valle, P. (1650). Viaggi di Pietro Della Valle il pellegrino, con minuto ragguaglio di tutte le
cose notabili osservate in essi. Rome.
Denon, V. (1803). Voyage Dans La Basse Et La Haute Égypte, Pendant Les Campagnes Du Général
Bonaparte. Paris.
Description de l’Égypte ou Recueil de observations et des recherches qui ont été faites en Égypte pen-
dant l’éxpédition de l’armée française /​publié par les ordres de Sa Majesté l’empereur Napoléon le
Grand. Paris: Imprimerie impériale, 1809–​1828.
Fragaki (2008). Des Topias à l’Utopie: Le Rôle de l’Égypte dans la Peinture Paysagiste Romaine,
Antike Kunst 51, pp. 96–​122.
Gilet, A.L.-​F. (1989). Cassas und der Orient, in Europa und der Orient 800–​1999 (exhibition cata-
logue). Berlin, pp. 279–​287.
Ibn Iyās, M. (1961–​1975). Badāʾiʿ al-​zuhūr fī waqāʾiʿ al-​duhūr (ed. M. Mustafā). Wiesbaden/​Cairo.
Ibn Khallikān (1978). Wafayāt al-​aʿyān wa anbā’ abnā’ al-​zamān (ed. Iḥsān ʿAbbās), 6 vols. Beirut.
al-​Jabartī, A.R. (1998), ʿAjā’ib al-​āthār fī ‘l-​tarājim wa ‘l-​akhbār (ed. ʿAbd al-​Raḥmān ʿAbd al-​
Raḥīm), 4 vols. Cairo.
Khattab, A. (1982). Das Ägyptenbild in den deutschsprachigen Reisebeschreibungen der Zeit von
1285–​1500 (Europäische Hochschulschriften. Reihe 1, Deutsche Sprache und Literatur). Frankfurt
a.M./​Bern.
Lane-​Poole, S. (1886). The Art of the Saracens in Egypt. London.
De Lannoy, G. (1878). Oeuvres de Ghillebert de Lannoy, Voyageur, Diplomate et Moraliste (eds. C.
Potvin and J.-​C. Houzeau). Louvain.
Louis, F.C. (1994). 1756–​ 1827. Dessinateur-​ Voyageur, Im Banne der Sphinx (exhibition cata-
logue). Mainz.
de Maillet, B. and J.-​B. (1740). Abbé Le Mascrier, Description de l’Egypte, contenant plusieurs
remarques curieuses sur la géographie ancienne et moderne de ce païs. La Haye, Beauregard.
Mayer, L. (1803). Views in Egypt, from the original drawings, in the possession of Sir Robert Ainslie,
taken during his embassy to Constantinople. London.
Meinecke, M. (1988). Syrian Blue-​ and-​White Tiles of the 9th/​ 15th Century, Damaszener
Mitteilungen 3.
Micara, L. (1989). Il Cairo nella ‘Chorographia’ di Pellegrino Brocardi, Storia della Città 46 (Il
Mondo Islamico, Immagini e Ricerche).
Millner, A. (2015). Damascus Tiles. Munich/​London/​New York.
Niebuhr, M. (1792). Travels through Arabia and Other Countries in the East (transl. Robert Heron).
Edinburgh.
Norden, F. (1757). Travels in Egypt and Nubia (transl. and ed. Peter Templeman). London.
Pococke, R. (1743). A Description of the East and Some Other Countries. London.
Raby, J. (1982). Venice, Dürer and the Oriental Mode. London.
Radzivil, P.N. (1614). Ierosolymitana peregrinatio illvstrissimi principis Nicolai Christophori
Radzivili. Antwerp, pp. 178–​181.
Ross, E. (2014). Picturing Experience in the Early Printed Book. Breydenbach’s Peregrinatio from
Venice to Jerusalem. Pennsylvania University Press.
Semeonis, S. (2017). The Journey of Symon Semeonis from Ireland to the Holy Land. CELT: Corpus
of Electronic Texts: a project of University College, Cork, Ireland; /​www.ucc.ie/​celt.
Van Berchem, M. (1894–​1903). Matériaux pour un Corpus Inscriptionum Arabicarum. (Mémoires
publiés par les Membres de la Mission Archéologique Française au Caire), XIX/​1–​4, Cairo, pp.
465–​472.
Versluys, M.J., Aegyptiaca Romana: Nilotic Scenes and the Roman Views of Egypt, pp. 237–​299.
Warner, N. (2006). The True Description Cairo: A Sixteenth Century Venetian View, 3 vols. Oxford.
Wolff, A. (2003). How Many Miles to Babylon. Travels and Adventures to Egypt and Beyond from
1300 to 1640. Liverpool.

204
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12
SEEING CAIRO
THROUGH PARIS
Nineteenth-​Century Literary Observations
by Egyptian Intellectuals

Kinda AlSamara

Cairo is home to myriad historical territories and landmarks that depict the architec-
tural wealth and rich history of the city. Across literature, Cairo is presented as not just
a global Islamic capital, but rather a center of the human urban experience. This chapter
examines the observations made by Egyptian intellectuals ṭṭawī and ʻAli Mubarak and
other influential writers who visited Paris when both Paris and Cairo were presented as
icons of urban modernity. The concept of the city was broad and encompassed both
the material and cultural aspects of new urban living, from the design of a spoon to the
design of a city.
While most previous studies look at the colonial nature of the Western influence in the
area, this chapter will analyze a significant number of Egyptian intellectual reactions to
European advancement at the time. These intellectuals attempted to import the Parisian
elements of tamaddun (urbanity) that they encountered during their travels and returned
with the aim of applying these ideas to their own communities. Moreover, this paper
examines the concept of tamaddun, which was, at that time, a newly developed term
that was at the forefront of this wave of intellectual and urban progress. The concept of
tamaddun did not simply refer to a city’s infrastructure, material development and tech-
nology, but rather it was a much broader understanding of intellectual, ideological and
legislative regulations and ideas. Cairo served as a central, urban hub in the Arab world
and set the stage for all Egyptians, particularly those who were returning from studying
and living abroad.
This chapter focuses on the work of key thinkers such as Rifaʻa al-​Ṭahṭawi and ʿAli
Mubarak and other influential writers who visited the two cities in their work. It also
explores the emergence of so-​called “urbanity” (al-​tamaddun), as an outcome of Arab-​
European interactions.

The Need for Change

In the early nineteenth century, Ḥasan al-​ʻAṭṭar (1766–​1835), one of the eminent sheikhs
at al-​Azhar, “who adores hearing about wondrous news and reading about strange

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-14 205

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Kinda AlSamara

traditions”,1 pointed out the need for change within the Arab countries: “We have to
change the conditions of our countries and gain new knowledge”.2 His contemporary
scholar and intellectual, Faris al-​ Shidyaq (1804–​ 1887), also noted the necessity for
change in the Arab world: “I feel so sad about the lack of Western urbanization in the
Islamic countries … especially when I think about the achievements the West has in all
kinds of knowledge, mastering the crafts in all fields and disseminating the interests and
the benefits, so the Arab countries need to change by following that Western progress”.3
The famous Egyptian historian ‘Abd al-​Raḥman al-​Jabarti (1753–​1825), who came from
a traditional family and witnessed the French occupation of Egypt,4 seemed fascinated
with the new Western ideas and accepted the change they introduced. He wrote: “The
painter Rigo] 1770–​1815[depicted humans so life-​like that the body almost looked alive.
He even painted sheikhs, each one individually in a circle, and drew other dignitaries”.5
He also described, without embarrassment, the image of the Prophet Muḥammad as was
shown in European books.6 He appreciated the work of the artists, showing that what was
forbidden in Islamic thinking had gradually become familiar within the Arab community.
Al-​Jabarti praised the French scientific advances and was in awe of what French scholars
presented to him, and he sought to be enlightened by them.7 He praised specifically the
educational reform and developments that were taking place at the time and commented
on the influence of French scholars who were with Napoleon’s campaign,

If any of the Muslims came to them in order to look around they did not prevent
him from entering their most cherished place and if they found in him any appe-
tite or desire for knowledge they showed their friendship and love for him, and
they would bring out all kinds of pictures and maps, and animals and birds and
plants, and histories of the ancients and of nations and tales of the prophets.
I went to them often, and they showed me all that.8

Al-​ṭṭawi (1801–​1873) was another Egyptian intellectual who realized the indispens-
ability of changing the conditions of his country. In his view, these changes should start
in the public realm, or what he called al-​manafiʿ al-​ʻumumeya, which meant that everyone,
the public, the scientists and the governors have to work in the public interest in order
to change the community.9 For many Arab intellectuals the need for change became an
urgent necessity. The Arab thinkers had mixed emotions regarding change, oscillating
between fascination and admiration of Western progress and concerns about its impact.
Arab liberal thinkers were fully aware of the need for change and showed serious desire
to change their societies and catch up with Western developments.
That change was reflected in adopting Western dress, food and social practices, as
well as Western architectural style in houses, palaces and public buildings. Even mosques
became Westernized in their forms and construction. The increasing exposure to the
complex elements of modern urbanity also resulted in a great demand for new concepts
and terminologies, and thus a range of new intellectual tools emerged and changed the
features and orientations of traditional Arab thinking. Information and instructions
were to become something useful to change many aspects of life.10

Interaction with Europe in the Eighteenth and Nineteenth Centuries

When the French campaign marched into Egypt in 1798, the French brought with them
more than just occupying military forces. They brought advanced science and technology,

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liberal ideas and sophisticated cultural attitudes. The Egyptian historian al-​ Jabarti
visited the French campaign’s scientific complex, and he was obviously very impressed
by the modern wonders he witnessed. When one reads in his book Tarajim al-​Akhbar
the descriptions of the things he saw, one senses the difficulties he encountered in finding
appropriate words to describe the complicated and completely new instruments and tools
displayed before him.11
In 1801, after the failure of the French campaign in Egypt, the Ottoman govern-
ment dispatched troops from Rumelia (the Balkan regions within the Ottoman Empire)
to represent their authority in Egypt.12 The troops were under the military command of
Muḥammad ʿAli (r. 1805–​1848), an officer born in Macedonia of Albanian parents who
spoke some Turkish but no Arabic. One of his tasks was to protect Egypt from Napoleon
returning. After the French had been ousted, there was a power vacuum in Egypt.13
During this period, Muḥammad ʿAli used his Albanian supporters to gain prestige and
power and, in 1805, the Ottoman government recognized him as wali (governor) of Egypt,
with the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire remaining Egypt’s titular sovereign until 1914.14
After becoming governor, Muḥammad ʿAli made efforts to modernize Egypt along
Western lines, and his interest in new sciences rose, which led to changes in the course of
Egyptian, Syrian and Arab history.15 His goal was to establish an effective, European-​style
state education focussing on science at early stages. Brilliance and success at different levels
make him and his efforts remembered in history. Even though Muḥammad ʿAli himself
had not received any school education, he urged Egyptians to seek knowledge and to edu-
cate themselves through reading and writing.16 Muḥammad ʿAli sent selected groups of
bright scholars on educational missions to Europe. These scholars, after exposure to the
new developments and urban life in the West, returned to lead educational reforms. They
transferred to the Arab readers what they observed in Europe, emphasizing the state of
decline of Arab urbanity in contrast with the development and progress of Europe.
A leading Arab intellectual who explored Europe, Muḥammad Maẓhar Pasha (1809–​
1873) set off on a scientific mission to France, spent several years there, and, upon his
return to Cairo, he was appointed as the headmaster of the artillery school Ṭubajeyah
and received the rank of Bikbashi (Lieutenant Colonel). He was the one of the engin-
eers who built the great Alexandria lighthouse and he successfully planned the irrigation
canals in Egypt, and then became a Minister for Public Works.17
When he was in Paris, Maẓhar Pasha was rewarded with a gift from French scholars
as a token of appreciation for the manner in which he had described the French urban
landscape. His eloquence is depicted in the following passage,

When I got to Marseille, I saw a view which I never ever saw before. The beauty
of the buildings with towering heights, the paved streets were wide and straight,
and then I heard strange noises. When I turned around I found horse drawn
wagons. For me it was the first time I saw and heard something like this. All day
you can find those wagons going back and forth.18

Maẓhar Pasha’s eloquently stated observations highlighted a distinct difference between

French and Egyptian societies, a difference which could be seen and explained but not
easily labeled or defined. Maẓhar Pāshā added,

For me, this was the first time [I saw] anything like this. I was also so impressed
when I saw women, without covering, in the streets, squares, and parks, walking

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freely in their beautiful dress, forbidden in our tradition and culture. In Paris,
I was impressed with the sights of people picnicking in the orchards. I visited
great halls that had beautiful pictures [of people] by famous painters.19

Maẓhar’s eloquently stated observations highlighted a distinct difference between French

society and Arabic culture, a difference which could be seen and explained but not
easily labeled or defined. The newness of French cities and the sophistication of their
inhabitants were caused by a phenomenon which would soon be called tamaddun, refer-
ring to a new form of civility, sophistication and new urbanity.
In the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries there was no Arabic word in use
to capture the modern urban developments which were taking place in Europe. These
developments included all aspects of urban life. Pioneering thinker Aḥmad Faris al-​
Shidyaq suggested that the word tamaddun would be a suitable term to capture the
complexity of this phenomenon. He explained that tamaddun is derived from the word
madīna (city) which in turn is derived from the word madana (civilize). He stated that the
concept of tamaddun, which can be translated as “urbanity”, “satisfies all human phys-
ical and mental needs”. He added that whatever the origin, in European languages, the
synonym of tamaddun is “city”. Thus, the concept of tamaddun refers to all the material
and cultural characteristics of city or urban dwellers, including “politeness, diplomacy,
and expertise”. The opposite characteristics of tamaddun, as described by al-​Shidyaq,
are “barbarism, disorder, and chaos”.20 This is often referred to as tawaḥḥush (primi-
tiveness and savagery). Even though tamaddun describes politeness, diplomacy and
expertise, al-​Shidyaq admits that its meaning is still rather vague and unclear. Arabic
dictionaries refers to tamaddun as a process of urbanization, of the Bedouin for example
(tamaddun al-​badw), that is, the Bedouins changing from a nomadic lifestyle to a settled,
urban life. Arabic dictionaries explain that the word tamaddun derived from madina,
which translates literally into “city” or “town”. Tamaddun of people also means their
“progress, advancement, and civilization”.21 Because tamaddun was such a new word
discussed mainly within intellectual circles, nineteenth-​ century scholars used other
words, such as taqaddum (advancement) and taraqqi (progress), to convey the meaning
of tamaddun.22 Some Arab intellectuals emphasized the material side of tamaddun as
experienced in Western cities. Al-​Shidyaq, for example, saw al-​tamaddun in the engin-
eering marvels of modern cities. He described the many bridges on the River Thames
and other London landmarks: “This River has several bridges, the first of which is next
to Landara (London), the bridge which is called London Bridge. Built of stone and steel,
and incorporating five arches, it has a towering stone statue of King William IV made
of exquisite marble”.23 Other intellectuals emphasized the cultural and social dimensions
of tamaddun, such as civility, personal freedom, social justice, political democracy and
religious coexistence. Al-​Bustani, for example, focused on the new concepts of waṭan,
“home”, ūmma, “nation”, and ḥurreyya, “freedom”, as expressions of tamaddun.24
It soon became clear that tamaddun has two distinct dimensions. Al-​Ṭahṭawi was one
of the first Arab thinkers to recognize the French distinction of the cultural and material
aspects of their new urbanity. He explained that the material dimension encompasses
everything from the design of a spoon to the design of a city. It includes aspects such as
industry, modes of transportation, architecture, built environments and new methods
of construction. The cultural dimension comprises noble human aspects, such as good
moral character, religious etiquette, justice, equality, freedom, politeness, diplomacy,
expertise and all the principles that define good moral behavior in a society.25

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Tamaddun was a key word which described the unprecedented technical and social pro-
gress that was taking place in Europe and spreading into the Arab world.26 It started with
educating a new generation of people who would be well prepared for the changes ahead.
Many of these people went on to become engineers, who instigated professional change
and informed the general public about the changes that were occurring all around them.

The New Urbanity

Scholars, who were so used to the shambolic conditions of their own cities, journeyed
through Europe and were impressed by the new urbanity of the cities they visited. They
described in their writings the new features of the European cities and the social spaces
allocated for the people who lived there. Al-​ṭṭawi was sent to Paris in 1826 in a group
of 44 students and later became one of the pioneer thinkers of the Arab Renaissance.27
He was a pioneer and considered to be one of the “first generation” of liberal Arab
intellectuals, as he introduced liberal French Enlightenment ideas to nineteenth-​century
Arab minds. Originally from Ṭahṭa, Upper Egypt, his education was supported despite
his impoverished background. He was sent to al-​Azhar School and Mosque, which was
considered the centre of knowledge and thought at the time. Al-​Tahtawi was under the
tutelage of Ḥasan al-​ʿAttar, a renowned intellectual who had experienced Napoleon’s
French campaign first-​ hand. al-​ ʻAṭṭar had visited the Institut d’Égypte, where he
witnessed Western progress directly.28
However, al-​Tahtawi was dispatched to France as the imam and chaperone for the
group who were sent to study the society and culture in France and bring back ideas
to Egypt.29 Despite this role, al-​Tahtawi took it as a personal opportunity to also study
French society for five years (1826–​1831).30 Al-​Tahtawi “returned to Egypt in 1831 and
he published his book Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz fī Talkhīṣ Bārīz, in which he narrated his impres-
sion of France. Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz has been described as an attempt by al-​Tahtawi to intro-
duce Western ideas to his surroundings.31 He placed great value on the relationships he
built with French scholars through his work, as they also provided commentary on his
writings.32 He wrote: “Paris is the best constructed city in Europe and one of the finest
cities of the Franks … . The French nation is the greatest of all the Frankish nations, espe-
cially in the fields of science, the arts, literature, and architecture”.33 Al-​Tahtawi praised
scientific development and stated: “The best of science is in the land of the Franks”.34
Besides that, he was impressed by the organization and cleanliness of the Parisians, who
were constantly striving to progress in their work.35 A visit to a royal palace allowed him
to conclude that “The basic principle with the French is that everything is done for the
sake of beauty and elegance, rather than for [excessive] ornamentation, the outward show
of wealth or vainglory”.36 Al-​Tahtawi promoted the idea that Egyptians were extremely
capable of becoming just like the West and they would greatly benefit from these changes.
Al-​Tahtawi was astonished by what he observed of the architecture, the layout of the
streets, the beauty of the parks and the innovative new forms of transport. He was most
impressed by the modern transportation in Paris (horse-​drawn carriages), considering
the fact that Arab cities offered little in the way of “public transportation”.37 Gaspard,
who was one of the scientific scholars in the French campaign in Egypt, described the
transportation in the Arab world of that time: there are a thousand donkeys –​most of
these donkeys are employed by people to get from one place to another; the rest are
utilized for the transportation of goods. People can rent these donkeys in stations located
near the entrances, main streets and shops of major cities.38 Al-​Tahtawi observed other

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Kinda AlSamara

innovations. He noted that houses and streets were designed in such a way that allowed
water to run down the buildings and make its way to canals. During cold weather the
French people warmed themselves by fireplaces inside their houses, hotels, factories and
shops. Al-​Tahtawi expressed his admiration of the French architectural designs and the
ornate craftsmanship of the buildings, although he did comment that the quality of the
building materials used in Paris was not as good as the materials used back in his city.
He gave elaborate descriptions of the walls, floors and ceilings of the Parisian houses, as
well as the furniture inside.39
Al-​Shidyaq was also impressed by what he saw in Europe. He wrote about the city
streets and the division of the roads, citing the French words “boulevard”, and “Champs-​
Elysées”, to indicate wide streets.40 At the same time, and in contrast to the orderly
modern layouts of cities, Orientalist Torres Balbás mocked the case of the streets in Arab
countries: one street, named “Twelve Turns”, was named so because of its many corners.
The government’s long neglect of the streets resulted in the accumulation of dirt, and
sometimes the collapse of many houses.41 The irregularity of the streets and the abun-
dance of cul-​de-​sacs led to some attempts to improve the urban planning, especially when
the case became unbearable. Gustave Von Grunebaum stated that the main reason for the
inconsistencies in urban planning was the absence of a governing body administrating
the development of these cities. There were no building codes, regulations or guidelines
for developers to follow.42 Al-​Tahtawi was careful to frame his discourse on Western lib-
eral ideas through the lens of the Islamic tradition. His fascination with several aspects
of statecraft, urban planning and the efficiency of civil order in Paris was evident through
his descriptions of the settings within cafés and the elaborate adornments, including
mirrors, as well as the individuals who frequented these places and the French women
who worked in them. Al-​Tahtawi juxtaposed these cafes with those in Egypt with their
cane chairs and the absence of women.43
Al-​Tahtawi, al-​Shidyaq and other intellectuals introduced the concept of tamaddun
to their audience, after returning home, by raising awareness of the need for a modern
lifestyle. This resulted in a new reality dawning on Egypt and led to a new understanding
of the dimensions of urbanity and drastic transformations in urban life. These trans-
formations resulted in the emergence of a new way of modern life, which helped Arab
capitals, especially Cairo, to transform from being medieval cities to becoming modern,
cosmopolitan metropolises.

Models of the New Urbanity

In the nineteenth century, al-​Tahtawi introduced and shaped the scholars’ understanding
of al-​tamaddun, based on the concept of “public benefits” (al-​manafiʻal-​ʻumūmeya).
Al-​Tahtawi championed this approach, which was a new idea at the time. He coined the
term to reflect the meaning of the French word “industrie” (industry): “Public benefits
(al-​manafiʻal-​ʻumumeya) express the French word ’industrie’, which means progress in
dexterity and skill. It also means to transform natural resources, created by God, into
useful materials for humans”.44
Al-​Tahtawi recognized that the material dimension of tamaddun is “the progress in
public benefits (al-​manafiʻal-​ʻumūmeya), such as agriculture, industry, and trade, which
contribute to the development of modern urbanity.”45 He explained al-​manafiʿ al-​
ʻumumeya by stating that people living in towns and cities benefit from organized admin-
istration of public assets, which provides convenience for everyone. Public benefits require

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justice, civil order and a prosperous economy.46 Rifaʻa al-​Ṭahṭawi was a great figure of
the nineteenth century who lived from 1801 to 1873. He was raised by an impoverished
family living in Ṭahṭa in Upper Egypt. Despite their poverty, his family took the business
of rearing and educating him very seriously and managed to finance his education in
al-​Azhar.

Al-​Ṭahṭawi was a precocious liberal thinker who developed many of his innova-
tive ideas during his mission in France (1826–​1831).47 As sheikh of al-​Azhar,
he was fully aware of the sensitivity of borrowing ideas from the West. He pre-
ferred to pull apart the concept of tamaddun and have the Arab community
discuss its various aspects, thus allowing them to become familiar with the idea.
Al-​Ṭahṭawi asserted the idea that al-​manafiʻal-​ʻumumeya is a vital ingredient of
tamaddun. Firstly, it would improve agriculture, “When the agriculture of an
area is expansive and thriving, its cities attain tamaddun along with the inevitable
prosperity it brings. Insufficient agricultural productivity impairs a city’s ability
to achieve tamaddun”.48

Although al-​Tahtawi witnessed examples of agricultural development in rural parts of

Egypt, he stated that a thriving agriculture is not enough to achieve tamaddun. Agriculture
must work alongside industry in order to advance an urban center. He showed how agri-
culture and industry can be combined synergistically by using wool and cotton as an
example: “wool or cotton can be spun into yarn which, in turn, can be made into clothes.
These clothes can be sold for money, and the money can be used to buy other com-
modities”.49 Al-​Tahtawi showed that “public benefits” can be achieved through business
acumen and productive activities. In his opinion, a country’s wealth and riches could
be used to improve the situation of its people.50 Some personal benefits may have to be
sacrificed in order to achieve greater rewards for the entire nation.51 Industry employs the
labor of numerous people who contribute their own specialized skills to produce goods
or provide services that have a value in particular markets. The profits from selling these
goods or services remunerate the contributing labor force. The public benefits from the
resources which get traded for money which, in turn, gets exchanged for other products
and services. The marriage of agriculture, industry and trade will lead to the growth and
prosperity of the national economy –​a hallmark of tamaddun.52
ʽAli Mubarak (1823–​1893) was one of the most influential reformers of nineteenth-​
century Egypt. He is considered as one of the key figures who provided significant input
and support for the reconstruction of the landscape of Cairo and creation and modern-
ization of a unified system of education in Egypt, following the French models. Mubarak
was born in Birnbal, a village of Egypt, and then attended a public preparatory school
before becoming a student in the first school of engineering, Muhandis Khana. He
graduated from Muhandis Khana and was chosen by the Egyptian government to be a
member of a student mission sent by Muḥammad ʽAli to France in 1844 because of his
success and excellence.53
Mubarak studied in Paris for two years and upon his return was appointed to serve at
a school for artillery officers and military engineers. He became a director of the entire
educational system in Egypt. This marked the beginning of his rich career of public ser-
vice which included the ministries of education, public works and railways. He was also
critical of the state of planning and architecture in Egypt and did not hide his desire to
copy French models and to adopt European ideas.54

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Mubarak estimated that there were about 1290 streets in the main city of Cairo, 133
of which were substantial thoroughfares, and the rest were small meandering pathways.55
The narrow city streets, which ranged from 75 cm to 4.5 m wide, were designed to accom-
modate passage for animals, not wagons. The arrangement of these streets was the main
reason that the cities were in such disarray.56 The stone seats erected in front of shops
made these streets even narrower.57 Ironically, during the many uprisings in Arab cities,
such narrow streets prevented the Ottoman army from transporting their canons to quell
the dissidents.58 In 1814, Muḥammad ʽAli’s daughter’s wedding procession included 91
carriages, which were meant to showcase the best works of the city’s master craftsmen.
However, the narrow streets would not allow the procession to pass. So, two days before
the wedding, Muḥammad ʿAli’s police started to remove all the stone benches off the
shop fronts.59 After this inconvenient event, Muḥammad ʽAli decided to establish new
roads; his advisors suggested that they be wide enough to allow two camels to pass
unhindered.60
Decades later, in 1847, after Muhammad ʿAli’s rule had come to an end, Cairo had
fewer than 300,000 residents, including those living in the ports of Bulaq and Misr
al-​
Qadimah. Egypt was still part of the Ottoman Empire, despite being a semi-​
autonomous area that was ruled by an Easterner. This was a time at which Egypt and
Europe were first becoming acquainted, forging transportation links and trade. By 1897,
the city grew to 590,000 inhabitants and although it was still under Ottoman rule, Egypt
had been under a British governor for 15 years. Throughout the country, European
nationals enjoyed exemptions, privileges and a lavish lifestyle due to the monopoly they
held over important positions within the government. The fate of both Egypt and Europe
had become intertwined in these critical 50 years of agricultural and demographic
change. Egypt’s status changed globally as its capital, Cairo, expanded and developed
for the first time since the fourteenth century. Under the reign of Sultan Nasir, Cairo had
grown and its boundaries had developed to incorporate wider strips on the west of the
Khalij (canal). Once again, in the later years of the nineteenth century, Cairo expanded
to incorporate a wider area beyond the western borders.

Concluding Note
During the nineteenth century, Egypt witnessed a series of urban infrastructural,
ideological and material progress and advancement. This was in large part due to the
contributions of several key intellectual figures at the time who traveled to Europe, from
Cairo, in order to study and understand European urban styles. Contrary to what is
widely written about colonial influences of the time, many of these figures were in fact
open to and welcoming of these Western ideas and were keen to apply them in Egypt,
specifically in Cairo, upon returning. These scholars were very impressed by the new
urbanity they had seen in Europe and wanted to instigate a similar phenomenon in the
home land –​a phenomenon they called tamaddun. Unlike most studies which focus on
Egypt’s reluctance to adopt Western ideas, this study reveals how eager the intellectuals
were to accept the challenge of modernization and how willing they were to find a way to
achieve the same benefits enjoyed by the West. Key figures including al-​Tahtawi and ʽAli
Mubarak championed these new principles of urbanity and change.
Furthermore, they developed from these new understandings concepts regarding how
the growth and expansion of their cities would take place. This study traced the emergence
of al-​tamaddun (new urbanity) as it was described by scholars who traveled to Europe

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Seeing Cairo Through Paris

in the nineteenth century. Al-​tamaddun was a new phase of civilizational development

introduced by these figures within the context of Cairo. It brought about societal changes
at all levels. Art and architecture were particularly important areas of development as
they brought the Egypt-​Ottoman world closer to Europe, with shared Enlightenment
values based on science, humanism and rationalism. The concept of tamaddun began to
circulate when Arab scholars published books describing their travels through nineteenth-​
century Europe. It explored the broad implications of tamaddun which affected trad-
itional views about society as a whole. Tamaddun not only transformed the lives of the
people, but also changed the face of the cities they lived in.

Notes
1 Joseph Massad, Desiring Arabs (London: The University of Chicago, 2007), 31.
2 ʽAlī Mubārak, al-​Khiṭaṭ al-​Tawfīqiyya (Cairo: al-​Maṭbaʻa al-​Amīriyya, 1888), 4: 38.
3 Aḥmad Fāris al-​Shidyāq, al-​Riḥla al-​Mawsūma bi-​l-​Wāsiṭa ilā Maʻrifat Māliṭa wa Kashf
al-​Mukhabbā ʻan Funūn Awrubbā (Tunis: Maṭbaʻat al-​Dawla al-​Tūnisiyya, 1867), 3.
4 Many historians consider the French campaign a critical period in Arab history. For more
on this point, see Nadia Walid Bou Ali, Performing the Nahda (Beirut: American University,
2008). Mundhir Maʻālīqī, Maʻālim al-​Nahḍa al-​ʻArabiyya fī-​l-​Fikr al-​ʻArabī al-​Ḥadīth (Beirut:
al-​Muʼassasa al-​ Ḥadītha li-​l-​Kitāb, 2003). Sayyār Jamīl, Takwīn al-​ ʻArab al-​
Ḥadīth
(Amman:Dāral-​Shurūq,1997).MuḥammadBadīʻSharīf,DirāsātTārīkhiyyafī-​l-​Nahḍaal-​ʻArabiyya
al-​Ḥadītha (Cairo: Jāmiʻat al-​Duwal al-​ʻArabiyya, 1958).
5 ʻAbd al-​Raḥmān al-​Jabartī, ʻAjāʼib al-​Āthār fī-​l-​Tarājim wa-​l-​Akhbār (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Dār
al-​Kutub al-​Miṣriyya, 1997), 3: 59.
6 Ibid., 3: 57.
7 Shmuel Moreh, “Napoleon and the French Impact on Egyptian Society in the Eyes of
al-​Jabarti”, in Irene A. Bierman (ed.), Napoleon in Egypt (Los Angles: Gustave E. von
Grunebaum Center for Near Eastern Studies, 2003), 64.
8 al-​Jabartī, ʻAjāʼib al-​Āthār, 3: 349–​351. Cited in Albert Hourani, A History of the Arab Peoples
(London: Folio Society, 2009), 266.
9 ṭṭāwī, Manāhij al-​Albāb al-​Miṣriyya fī Mabāhij al-​Ādāb al-​ʻAṣriyya (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Sharikat
al-​Raghāʼib, 1912), 9.
10 Ibid., 69.
11 ʻAbd al-​Raḥmān al-​Jabartī, ʻAjāʼib al-​Āthār fi-​l-​Tarājim wa-​l-​Akhbār (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Dār
al-​Kutub al-​Miṣriyya, 1997), 3: 58–​59.
12 Nezar AlSayyad, Cairo: Histories of a City (Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard
University Press, 2013), 172.
13 Nashʼat al-​Dīhī, Muḥammad ʻAlī Pasha (Cairo: Dār al-​Jumhūrīyah lil-​Ṣiḥāfah, 2009), 26.
14 N. AlSayyad, Cairo, 174.
15 al-​Dīhī, Muḥammad ʻAlī Pasha, 26.
16 Raʼūf ʻAbbās, Tārīkh Jamiʽat al-​Qāhira (Cairo: Electronic reproduction, 2007), 14–​15.
17 Khayr al-​Dīn Ziriklī, al-​Aʻlām: Qāmūs Tarājim li-​Ashhar al-​Rijāl wa-​l-​Nisāʼ min al-​ʻArab
wa-​l-​Mustaʻribīn wa-​l-​Mustashriqīn (Beirut: Dār al-​ʻIlm li-​l-​Malāyīn, 1992), 105. Ḥamdī Abū
Julayyil, al-​Qāhirah: Shawāriʻ wa-​Ḥikāyāt āāb, 2008.
18 ʻUmar Ṭūsūn, al-​Baʻthāt al-​ʻIlmiyya fī ʻAhd Muḥammad ʻAlī: Thumma fī ʻAhday ʻAbbās
al-​Awwal wa Saʻīd (Alexandria: Maṭbaʻat Ṣalāḥ al-​Dīn, 1934), 19–​20.
19 Ibid., 1:3.
20 Ibid., 1:3.
21 Madina is the root word for similar terms such as Madaniyya (civilisation or urbanization) and
Madani (civil or urban). For more on this point, see Muhammad Abdul Jabbar, Perspectives
of Civilization (Kuala Lumpur: The University of Malaya Press, 1985), 28. See also Milton
Cowan, Hans Wehr Dictionary of Modern Written Arabic (Beirut: Librairie Du Liban;
London: MacDonald and Evans Ltd, 1974), 899.
22 Words with similar meanings existed prior to the nineteenth century; for example: fourteenth-​
century urban sociologist Ibn Khaldūn, in his book An Introduction to History, used the

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Kinda AlSamara

word ‘umrān (which translates into “construction”, “prosperity” or “inhabitedness”) when he

explained that the prosperity of a nation can be judged by observing the lifestyle of the people,
and measuring the degree of ‘umrān associated with their society. For more on this point, see
Walī al-​Dīn Abū Zayd ‘Abd al-​Raḥmān ibn Muḥammad ibn Muḥammad al-​Tūnisī Ibn Khaldūn,
Tārīkh Ibn Khaldūn fī Ayyām al-​ʻArab wa-​l-​ʻAjam (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat al-​Nahḍa, 1936).
23 Aḥmad Fāris al-​Shidyāq, al-​Riḥla al-​Mawsūma bi-​l-​Wāsiṭa ilā Maʻrifat Māliṭa wa Kashf
al-​Mukhabbā ʻan Funūn Awrubbā (Tunis: Maṭbaʻat al-​Dawla al-​Tūnisiyya, 1867), 296.
24 Buṭrus Bustānī, Udabāʼ al-​ʻArab fī-​l-​Andalus wa ʻAṣr al-​Inbiʻāth (Beirut: Dār al-​Makshūf wa
Dār al-​Thaqāfa, 1968), 406.
25 ṭṭāwī, Manāhij al-​Albāb al-​Miṣriyya fī Mabāhij al-​Ādāb al-​ʻAṣriyya (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Sharikat
al-​Raghāʼib, 1912), 6.
26 Humphre Ernest Bowman, Middle-​East Window (London: Longmans, 1956), 22.
27 Eugene Rogan, The Arabs: A History (London: Penguin, 2012), 106.Aḥmad ibn Muḥammad
ibn AḥḥNuzhat al-​ Fikar fīmā maḍá min al-​ Ḥawādith wa-​al-​ʻIbar fī Tarājim Rijāl al-​Qarn
al-​Thānī ʻAshar wa-​al-​Thālith ʻAshar (Damascus: Wizārat al-​Thaqāfah, 1996), 1: 411.
28 ṭṭāwī, Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz fī Talkhīṣ Bārīz (Cairo: Dār al-​Taqaddum, 1905), 226.
29 Lisa Pollard, Nurturing the Nation: The Family Politics of Modernizing, Colonizing and
Liberating Egypt (1805/​1923) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005), 32–​33. Albert
Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age 1789–​1939 (Cambridge: University Press, 1962), 91.
30 Roxanne L. Euben, Journeys to the Other Shore: Muslim and Western Travellers in Search of
Knowledge (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 114.
31 Pollard, Nurturing the Nation, 34.
32 In the fifth section of Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz fī Talkhīṣ Bārīz, ṭṭāwī publishes letters that he exchanged
with French scholars, such as Monsieur Jomard.
33 ṭṭāwī, Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz fī Talkhīṣ Bārīz (Cairo: Dār al-​Taqaddum, 1905), 69.
34 ṭṭāwī, An Imam in Paris: Account of a Stay in France by an Egyptian Cleric 1826–​1831, trans.
Daniel L. Newman (London: Saqi, 2004), 99. Rogan, The Arabs, 107.
35 ṭṭāwī, Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz, 80–​81.
36 ṭṭāwī, An Imam in Paris, 218.
37 André Raymond, “The Management of the City”, in S.K. Jayyusi, R. Holod, A. Petruccioli and
A. Raymond (eds.), The City in the Islamic World, vol, 1 (Boston: Brill, 2008), 775–​793.
38 Gilbert Joseph Gaspard, Waṣf Miṣr, trans. by Zuhayr al-​Shāyib (Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Dār al-​Kutub
al-​Miṣriyya, 1976), 18: 108.
39 Al-​Ṭahṭāwī, Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz, 80–​81.
40 Al-​Shidyāq, al-​Wāsiṭa, 296.
41 Raymond, al-​Mudun al-​ʻArabiyya, 161.
42 Gustave von Grunebaum, “The Structure of the Muslim Town”, in Islam: Essays in the Nature
and Growth of a Cultural Tradition (London: Routledge & K. Paul, 1961), 58–​141.
43 Ibid., 61.
44 Al-​Ṭahṭāwī, Manāhij al-​Albāb, 128.
45 Ibid., 6.
46 Ibid., 23–​24.
47 Hourani, Arabic Thought in the Liberal Age, 91.
48 Ibid., 127.
49 Ibid., 128.
50 Roxanne L. Euben, Journeys to the Other Shore: Muslim and Western Travellers in Search of
Knowledge (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 234.
51 Al-​Ṭahṭāwī, Manāhij al-​Albāb, 8.
52 For more on this point, see Charles More, Understanding the Industrial Revolution
(London: Routledge, 2000).
53 Muḥammad Durrī, Tārīkh Ḥayāt al-​Maghfūr la-​hu ʻAlī Mubārak Pasha (Cairo: al-​Maṭṭ
54 Mohamed Awad, “Reviving the Role of the Master Builder, or Moalem, in Architectural
Education”, in A. Salama, W. O’Reilly and K. Noschis (eds.), Architectural Education Today,
Cross-​Cultural Perspectives (Switzerland: Lausanne, 2002), 77–​84.
55 ʽAlī Mubārak, al-​Khiṭaṭ al-​Tawfīqiyya (Cairo: al-​Maṭbaʻa al-​Amīriyya, 1888), 1: 82.
56 Samir Umar Ibrahim, al-​Ḥayāt al-​Ijtimā‘iyya fī Madīnat al-​Qāhira Khilāla al-​Niṣf al-​Awwal min
al-​Qarn al-​Tāsiʻ ʻAshar (Cairo: al-​Hayʼa al-​Misriyya al-​ʻAmma li-​l-​Kitab, 1992), 87.

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57 André Raymond, Arab Cities in the Ottoman Period (Cairo: Paris: Dār al-​Fikr, 2002),161.
58 André Raymond, Fuṣūl min al-​Tārīkh al-​Ijtimāʻī li-​l-​Qāhira, trans. by Zuhayr Aḥmad Shāyib
(Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī, 1950), 69.
59 Al-​Jabartī, ʻAjāʼib al-​Āthār, 1: 108.
60 Mubārak, al-​Khiṭaṭ, 3: 830.

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ʻAbbās, R. (2007). Tārīkh Jamiʽat al-​Qāhira. Cairo: Electronic reproduction.
Abdul Jabbar, M. (1985). Perspectives of Civilization. Kuala Lumpur: The University of
Malaya Press.
Awad, M. (2002). “Reviving the Role of the Master Builder, or Moalem, in Architectural Education”,
in A. Salama, W. O’Reilly and K. Noschis (eds.), Architectural Education Today, Cross-​Cultural
Perspectives. Switzerland: Lausanne.
al-​Bustānī, B. (1968). Udabāʼ al-​ʻArab fī-​l-​Andalus wa ʻAṣr al-​Inbiʻāth. Beirut: Dār al-​Makshūf wa
Dār al-​Thaqāfa.
al-​Dīhī, N. (2009). Muḥammad ʻAlīAPasha. Cairo: Dār al-​Jumhūrīyah lil-​Ṣiḥāfah.
al-​Jabartī, ʻR. (1997). ʻAjāʼib al-​Āthār fī-​l-​Tarājim wa-​l-​Akhbār. Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Dār al-​Kutub
al-​Miṣriyya.
AlSayyad, N. (2013). Cairo: Histories of a City. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard
University Press.
al-​Shidyāq, A.F. (1867). al-​Riḥla al-​Mawsūma bi-​l-​Wāsiṭa ilā Maʻrifat Māliṭa wa Kashf
al-​Mukhabbā ʻ k Funūn Awrubbā. Tunis: Maṭbaʻat al-​Dawla al-​Tūnisiyya.
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ṭṭāwī, R. (1905). Takhlīṣ al-​Ibrīz fī Talkhīṣ Bārīz. Cairo: Dār al-​Taqaddum.
—​—​—​. (1912). Manāhij al-​Albāb al-​Miṣriyya fī Mabāhij al-​Ādāb al-​ʻAṣriyyah. Cairo: Maṭbaʻat
Sharikat al-​Raghāʼib.
—​—​—​. (2004). trans. Daniel L. Newman. An Imam in Paris: Account of a Stay in France by an
Egyptian Cleric 1826-​1831. London: Saqi.
al-​Ziriklī, K.D. (1992). al-​Aʻlām: Qāmūs Tarājim li-​Ashhar al-​Rijāl wa-​l-​Nisāʼ min al-​ʻArab wa-​l-​
Mustaʻribīn wa-​l-​Mustashriqīn. Beirut: Dār al-​ʻIlm li-​l-​Malāyīn.
Bou Ali, Walid, N. (2008). Performing the Nahda. Beirut: American University.
Bowman, E. (1956). Middle-​East Window. London: Longmans.
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Durrī, M. (1894). Tārīkh Ḥayāt al-​Maghfūr la-​hu ʻAlīAMubārak Pasha. Cairo: al-​Maṭṭ.
Euben, R. (2006). Journeys to the Other Shore: Muslim and Western Travellers in Search of
Knowledge. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Gaspard, J. (1976). trans. Zuhayr al-​Shāyib. Waṣf Miṣr. Cairo: Maṭbaʻat Dār al-​Kutub al-​Miṣriyya.
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Growth of a Cultural Tradition. London: Routledge & K. Paul.
ḥḥmad ibn Muḥammad ibn Aḥmad (1996). Nuzhat al-​Fikar fīmā maḍá min al-​Ḥawādith wa-​al-​ʻIbar
fī Tarājim Rijāl al-​Qarn al-​Thānī ʻ -​Tha wa-​al-​Thālith ʻAshar. Damascus: Wizārat al-​Thaqāfah.
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(1936). Tārīkh Ibn Khaldūn fī Ayyām al-​ʻArab wa-​l-​ʻAjam. Cairo: Maṭbaʻat al-​Nahḍa.
Ibrahim, U. (1992). al-​Ḥayāt al-​Ijtimā‘iyya fī Madīnat al-​Qāhira Khilāla al-​Niṣf al-​Awwal min
al-​Qarn al-​Tāsiʻ ʻAshar. Cairo: al-​Hayʼa al-​Misriyya al-​ʻAmma li-​l-​Kitab.
Jamīl, S. (1997). Takwīn al-​ʻArab al-​Ḥadīth. Amman: Dār al-​Shurūq.
Maʻālīqī, Mundhir. (2003). Maʻālim al-​Nahḍa al-​ʻArabiyya fī-​l-​Fikr al-​ʻArabīAal-​Ḥadīth. Beirut:
al-​Muʼassasa al-​Ḥadītha li-​l-​Kitāb.
Massad, J. (2007). Desiring Arabs. London: The University of Chicago.
More, Charles. (2000). Understanding the Industrial Revolution. London: Routledge.

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Moreh, S. (2003) “Napoleon and the French Impact on Egyptian Society in the Eyes of al-​Jabarti”,
in Irene A. Bierman (ed.), Napoleon in Egypt. Los Angles: Gustave E. von Grunebaum Center
for Near Eastern Studies.
Mubārak, A. (1888). al-​Khiṭaṭ al-​Tawfīqiyya. Cairo: al-​Maṭbaʻa al-​Amīriyya.
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Liberating Egypt (1805/​1923). Berkeley: University of California Press.
Raymond, A. (1950). trans. Zuhayr Aḥmad Shāyib. Fuṣūl min al-​Tārīkh al-​Ijtimāʻī li-​l-​Qāhira.
Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī.
—​—​—​. (2002). Arab Cities in the Ottoman Period. Cairo: Paris: Dār al-​Fikr.
—​—​—​. (2008). “The Management of the City”, in S.K. Jayyusi, R. Holod, A. Petruccioli and A.
Raymond (eds.), The City in the Islamic World, vol. 1. Boston: Brill.
Rogan, E. (2012). The Arabs: A History. London: Penguin.
Sharīf, M. B. (1958). Dirāsāt Tārīkhiyya fī-​l-​Nahḍa al-​ ʻArabiyya al-​Ḥadītha. Cairo: Jāmiʻat
al-​Duwal al-​ʻArabiyya.
Ṭūsūn, ʻU. (1934). al-​Baʻthāt al-​ʻIlmiyya fī ʻAhd Muḥammad ʻAlī: Thumma fī ʻAhday ʻAbbās
al-​Awwal wa Saʻīd. Alexandria: Maṭbaʻat Ṣalāḥ alāalḥ -​Dīn.

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13
SAYINGS AND SONGS
On the Intangible Culture of Cairo

Ahmed O. El-​Kholei

Cairo is a complex city, and its intangible culture has not received the scholarly attention
it deserves. This chapter examines how Cairo is portrayed in the spoken word, specifically
in the folklore of famous sayings, proverbs, poetry, and songs to reveal this intangible
dimension of the city. Humans construct buildings and cities, and then they work and live
in them. Their built environment, in turn, affects their lives. Through its buildings and
public spaces, a city reflects the political, social and economic conditions of its time, thus
shaping both its residents’ mental and visual images because imagination has the power
to shape the perception of those who live and visit a city.
Culture is people’s language, cuisine, social habits, music and arts. It is a collection
of many socially distinct, intricate and mutually dependent expressions. Tangible cul-
ture includes buildings, artifacts, objects and other outputs resulting from human inter-
vention to produce a built environment, which induces transformations to the natural
landscape. Intangible culture comprises performing arts, oral traditions, indigenous
knowledge, traditional crafts, practices and rituals. Both tangible and intangible culture
aspects intertwine, reflecting social and moral transformations in character and identity.
They are the permanence of tradition that contributes to shaping the city’s social iden-
tity, representing the residents’ culture and belonging to a community. Tracked over time,
they also show signs of societal transformations. Culture is the association between a
society and its norms and values. Icons, tools, skills and objects testify to a community’s
fundamental rules and values. Tangible culture takes on form and importance within the
broader context in cultures that attach extra weight to the oral tradition,1 particularly in
the Arab world. Tangible and intangible culture gives meaning to people’s lives, a dis-
tinctive local identity at a specific time, and a diverse, shared memory.2
The city is the interplay of environmental, social, economic, institutional and pol-
itical forces. The tangible and intangible culture of a city results from and shapes its
residents’ perception. The benefits of interrogating both tangible and intangible culture
are understanding the past, comprehending the present and forecasting a metropolitan
area’s future. Investigating a city’s culture is about examining actions that led to changes
in its morphology and interpreting their meanings.
Since a city is a complex system, there is no single way to examine it. Architects,
urban designers and geographers investigate the city through its location, road patterns

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-15 217

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

and morphology. For artists, such as story writers and filmmakers, the city’s streets and
public spaces are the scenes where events unfold. Urban historians examine the causes
and consequences of urban development. Urban ecologists examine land uses and cover
changes and their impact on the ecosystem, affecting citizens’ productivity and well-​
being. Urban economists investigate the local markets’ efficiency.
The discourses mentioned above portray the city from the scholar’s viewpoint. How
the city’s residents perceive it is a different matter. It requires investigating their identity
and character at a particular time by examining language that folks use in their daily activ-
ities. There is a need to examine the city using the culture of its residents. This chapter will
investigate how folklore and traditions related to the built environment portray the city
and its development and societal transformations over centuries. It shows how the city’s
development and management and its metropolitan area interlinked into both the built
environment and traditions by focusing on relationships between tangible and intangible
culture using buildings and quarters of Cairo, on the one hand, and popular sayings,
proverbs, poetry and songs on the other.
The Greater Cairo Region (GCR) is the location of settlements that existed approxi-
mately six thousand years ago. AlSayyad3 presented a credible visual reconstruction
of the layers of contemporary Cairo’s built environment since the days of ancient
Egyptians, thus casting light on both the personal and political motivations of Egypt’s
different rulers. He was not the first to investigate Cairo and its development. Between
1798 and 1801, approximately 160 French scientists accompanied Napoleon Bonaparte’s
campaign. They produced a series of publications documenting aspects of ancient
and modern Egypt titled Description de l’ Egypte.4 Edward William Lane visited Cairo
between 1825 and 1828 and 1833 and 1835 to describe Cairenes’ life and document their
manners and customs. His observations took account of language, food, dress, literature
and science, as well as superstitions.5 In 1971, Abu Lughod examined Cairo’s develop-
ment between 969 and 1970 AD.6 In 2006, Singerman and Amar7 edited a book inves-
tigating Cairo’s cosmopolitanism, where the contributors discussed politics, culture and
urban space resulting from globalization and applying neoliberal policies.
Cairo is Egypt’s primate city,8 where almost a quarter of the urban population live.
Cairo is the home of regional institutions9 and several United Nations organizations’
regional offices.10 To the Arab world, Cairo is like London is to the English-​speaking
people. Cairo is an emotional attraction, where an Arab feels they are home11 (Lamb,
2011). No wonder that Egyptians refer to Cairo using the word Miṣr,12 which is the offi-
cial Arabic name of Egypt. It is a sign of hegemony.13 On her Facebook page, Radwa
Zaki14 wrote: “Cairo is charming and roaring. Cairo is the hub of Egypt. The railway
station in Alexandria, where trains depart to Cairo is known as Mahatit Miṣr because
Cairo is Egypt. Even Fustat, the Islamic Capital developed centuries before Cairo is
known as Miṣr al Qādymẗ, i.e., Old Egypt. Egyptians are not used to pronouncing the
letter qāf (‫ )ق‬in words unless they pronounce Cairo. All of them pronounce the name of
the city as written āl Qāhrẗ. They pronounce the letter qāf (‫ )ق‬because Cairo earned its
respect as it conquered tyrants and enemies. Cairo fascinates visitors filling their hearts
with passion”.15
Cairo captivates its visitors. Ibn Khaldun (1330–​1406 AD), an Arabian historian,
described Cairo as “the garden of the world, the gathering place of the nations … the
palace of Islam, the seat of dominion”.16 David Lamb (1940–​2016), who served as Los

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Sayings and Songs: On the Intangible Culture of Cairo

Angeles Times correspondent reporter in Cairo, described Cairo as a city with spirit and
substance, and noticed modern Cairo’s contradictions, describing it as a place where the
past seems so distant and irrelevant, the present unmanageable and the future unimagin-
able. He portrayed Cairo as challenging to love but impossible to hate.17 Cairo might
fascinate travelers and visitors. However, like other major global cities, Cairo could be
heartless, crushing marginalized Egyptians’ dreams. It attracts them from the country-
side, and they come escaping rural poverty, searching for a better life. In his short story,
The Caller (Al Nadaha),18 Youssef Idris, an Egyptian novelist, writes about Fathia, a
young girl from the countryside attracted to Cairo, which catches the innocent girl into
its mazes.
The contradictions of modern Cairo may be facets of broader trends of the globaliza-
tion of its economy and culture through implementing neoliberal policies. Hence, with
Cairo, cosmopolitanism and decolonization are conjoined. They emerge from the dis-
tinctive core of the human experience.19 Modern Cairo’s chaos is the outcome of govern-
mental policies. However, despite everything, Cairo is still a success story.20
As a research method, I used semiotics21 to interrogate a collection of the popular
sayings, proverbs, poems and songs to reveal how Cairo’s citizens perceive it. I looked
into patterns, signs and symbols, searching for signifiers and meanings. Using semiotics
as a research method is widely accepted. Scholars have used semiotics to investigate
space-​place relations, social change and modernity,22 and space production.23 Sources of
information examined in the chapter are diverse. They include published work, websites
and video clips. The analytical framework I used is Noticing thing-​Collecting things-​
Thinking about things (N-​C-​T). I subjected my examples to three steps; the first was to
notice a pattern, the second to collect similar bits and pieces of information into codes,
and finally think about their relationships. Collecting things is coding the data, i.e., the
proverbs, poems and songs as signs, such as the palace, wall,and gate. Signs in the semi-
otic analysis convey meanings. A sign shows a specific condition. The second and third
codes are the signifiers and signified, respectively. They are the proverbs, poems and songs
that reveal feelings, such as oppression, or describe a situation, such as class struggle and
injustice.
Following this introduction, the chapter presents some popular sayings, proverbs,
poetry and songs that depict Cairo. Next is a discussion of the compiled proverbs, poetry
and songs to understand and interpret how Cairo residents see their city. Because of
Cairo’s primacy, it is sometimes challenging to differentiate Egypt from its capital.

Cairo in Popular Sayings and Proverbs

Egyptians like writing statements on their belongings, such as a building or a vehicle.
Sometimes these statements are from the Quran or the Bible. They seek blessings, evade
an envy trail, or attract customers. For example, a vehicle owner wrote, “The Lord is
my Shepherd; I shall not want”24 on the side of his truck. To encourage clients to ride
in his taxi, the owner wrote: “O my son! Get on board with us, and do not be with the
disbelievers”.25
In this regard, Owais gathered and analyzed the statements written on vehicles’ bodies
to understand Cairenes’ sentiment and reveal contemporary Egyptian identity aspects.
Some of these statements were humorous; others are offensive or subversive, and hence

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

the government forbids them and penalizes the vehicle owner for posting them. He
considered these statements as the cheers of the silent majority.26

Proverbs as Indicators of Mental Image

Some of these statements are proverbs, i.e., a sentence rooted in traditional and indi-
genous knowledge manifesting a general truth or observation27 reflecting a satirical
attitude, a social habit or a political statement. For that reason, proverbs make up a
valuable material to investigate the city from its residents’ viewpoint. Proverbs are cen-
tral to Egyptians’ culture. They often say, “a proverb for talking is equivalent to a piece
of evidence supporting an argument”.28 A proverb has scientific value necessary for
dialog or discussion because it is strong proof for a disputed issue. Proverbs are elo-
quent judgment, short formulas, and carry many meanings in brief sentences reflecting
a popular philosophy based on people’s lives. They arise in connection to an event in a
specific time and location, thus governing its use, and developing people’s values and
experiences. Egyptians use proverbs to offer advice and lessons.29
Several proverbs refer to a location or a spatial dimension as an omen. For example,
ancient Egyptians used to believe that humans are like the sun. They rise on the eastern
bank of the Nile and set on the western bank. All tombs, such as the Giza Pyramids,
are on the western side of the Nile. For that reason, Egyptians say “nothing that pleases
the heart comes from the western side”30 because no good news comes from the burial
grounds. Egyptians use proverbs in different situations, reflecting their dodgy character.
Proverbs are instruments of their coping strategy, which they developed to deal with an
oppressor, whether a dictator or an occupier.

Proverbs Reflecting the Development of Cairo

Some proverbs point out aspects of the development of Cairo. For example, al-​Siqqli31
worked as a confectioner before joining the Fatimid army. For that reason Egyptians
often say, “the one who built Miṣr, i.e., Cairo, was initially a confectioner”.32,33 Walls
are elements of medieval Cairo. Al-​Siqqli developed Cairo for the ruling class and their
followers as a gated community and prevented the public from entering the city and
would even punish violators. For this reason Egyptians came up with a proverb warning
people to cross Cairo’s walls and never think about knowing what is behind it or dare
to enter the city. It is the reason for the proverb “walk nearby the wall”.34 It is a recom-
mendation for living safely.35 In another instance, Egyptians used to say, “the walls have
ears”.36 This is because during Nasser’s ruling era, the security apparatus used to tape
phone calls. Their agents would report a dialog in an office or a café, and arrest those
perceived to be in opposition to be detained and subjected to torture.
Some proverbs use architectural elements to indicate a particular meaning. “Under
the dome is a Sheikh”37 is a proverb that Egyptians use to express that all that glitters
is not gold. The Mamluk Sultan, al Moʾayad Shiekh, constructed a mosque near Bab
Zuwaila, with a dome over his tomb. His wazir falsely informed him that his son was
plotting to overthrow him. The Sultan poisoned his son then buried him under the dome.
Later, when the Sultan discovered his son’s innocence, he executed the wazir and then
died months later and was buried next to his son under the dome. A Muslim clergyman is
a Sheikh, and a dome is an architectural element that is often associated with a mosque

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Sayings and Songs: On the Intangible Culture of Cairo

or a saint’s tomb. However, like other tyrant rulers whose tombs included a dome,
al Moʾayad Shiekh was neither a clergyman nor a saint.

Proverbs Echoing Cairenes’ Values

Proverbs arise from certain incidents then show a shared societal value. Public baths
are among the elements of Cairo, where the public goes for cleansing and relaxation.38
One day a fire broke in Sultan Inal’s bath where women were bathing. Some of them
ran naked to the streets, while shy women preferred to die. Consequently, Egyptians
describe those who are too shy to take an action by saying: “those who feared a scandal
died”.39
For the sake of security, late Medieval Cairo’s rulers used to close the city’s gates after
Al ʿAasr prayer.40 They would then open the gates after sunrise. Peasants would bring the
vegetables and fruits to sell in the city. Rulers gave an exception to those selling zucchini
because it withers and spoils due to the heat. Peasants growing zucchini would arrive with
their peers. Instead of waiting for the gate to open, they would knock at the gate and yell
Kosat, i.e., “zucchini”, and the guards would let them in. Today, Cairenes use the word
kosat to indicate favoritism, bias and nepotism. When the Ottoman Turks ruled Egypt,
they levied fees on all commodities entering Cairo except salt. The word “Ṭz” means salt
in the Turkish language. Merchants bringing their commodities would tell the Turkish
inspectors that the sac was full of salt by yelling Ṭz, i.e., they have nothing to be taxed
but salt. Merchants would smuggle flour and other commodities and bluff the Turkish
inspectors by saying Ṭz. Today, Egyptians use the word for sarcasm, indicating worthless-
ness and triviality.41

Proverbs Implying Resentment of Tyranny

Muhammad ʿAli Pasha (1805–​1848) introduced many projects to transform Cairo, and
other Egyptian cities, to show the superiority of his ruling era over that of the former
Ottoman Wali or Mamluk rulers. He built the Jewel’s Palace (Qaṣr al Gawharah) after
demolishing several Mamluk houses and buildings, ending the Mamluk authority. He
executed several construction projects, including widening and expanding streets to suit
vehicles’ movement. Muhammad ʿAli developed a palace at Shubra al-​Khaima then
constructed a road to connect his palace to Cairo.42 Burckhardt (1784–​1817), a Swiss
geographer and orientalist, translated a collection of over 900 proverbs. The collection
included a proverb that reflects Egyptians’ condemnation of Muhammad ʿAli’s actions.43
They used to say, “to build a palace, he demolishes Cairo”44 as his projects required
destroying buildings, whether those that the Mamluk rulers constructed or small
structures that Cairenes owned. The commoners expressed their bitterness because of
such plans and actions45 by wondering, “for the sake of thy palace, shall you demolish
my hut?”.46 These proverbs reflect the unspoken opposition to tyrant rulers, such as
Muhammad ʿAli, who reigned over Egypt and aimed to immortalize their name.

Proverbs Indicating Societal Transformations

Transformations in Cairo’s built environment and contemporary Egyptian culture
reflect drastic societal transformations. As stated earlier, modern Cairo is a diverse

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

metropolis full of contradictions. Amin examined the changes in the lives and ways
of Egyptians between 1945 and 1999, a period in which Cairo experienced different
ruling regimes.47 He recorded facets of positive and negative societal transformations
and observed patterns of conspicuous consumption.48 Amin argued that forces that
induced these societal transformations are flows of international capital and techno-
logical advances resulting from Westernization associated with cultural invasion
starting in the mid-​1970s when Egyptians left for the Arabian Gulf states for work.
Niʻmat Aḥmad Fuʾad, an Egyptian writer, expressed her concerns regarding changes in
the Egyptian identity because of globalization in Al-​Ahram daily on March 29, 1994.49
Fuʼad confirmed that Egyptians resisted invaders through their civilization, style and
character.
Ezzat prepared and examined a list of proverbs and slang words young Egyptians
used between 1958 and 1989.50 Detaining the opposition and torturing them gave rise to a
new proverb, “the blue-​bottle flies won’t know their place”.51 The proverb says that these
insects, which feed on decomposed bodies, will not be able to find this detained person.
Another proverb that echoes the same meaning is “only those in power in the country
can get whatever they desire”.52 These proverbs signal the oppression that Cairenes
experience. New proverbs that indicate corruption and bribery include “if you want
to get done, then offer Wings”.53 Cairo and other Egyptian cities experienced several
projects that turned out to be a fumble.54 These projects developed without consultation
or any feasibility studies. The public would describe passing these projects as “passed
under the table”,55 indicating no transparency in decision-​making. Egyptians describe
these projects as “a bit in the dark”,56 showing embezzlement of public funds. Once a
scandal breaks out, they would say, “the deal failed, and something is fishy”.57 Cairo
experienced urban ills, such as lacking proper infrastructure. It is common to find a side-
walk dug to install a pipeline or a cable and not covered afterwards. For such situations
Egyptians came up with a new saying, “Pay attention to the trench, or you will fall”.58
She concluded that, over time, the youths’ beliefs have changed. They have become rather
aggressive, valuing consumerism over productivity. They are not serious-​minded and lack
the spirit of adventure, rushing to achieve their objectives with minimum effort. They
probably feel bitter due to the injustice they are surrounded with.59 The signs and aspects
that Amin, Fuʾad and Ezzat recorded continued in association with Mubarak’s corrupt
and oppressive measures into the 21st century, which the UNDP Human Development
Report for the Arab States reported in 2009.

Cairo in Poetry and Songs

One source of information that historians depend on is manuscripts prepared during
the period under investigation –​documents of the past draw a picture of life.60 Today,
the city appears as one highlight of modern poetry and a formal or architectural model
upon which the modern poem rises. The city and its streets cascade like tedious arguments;
its windows represent either dark or luminous squares where an individual lives, interacts
with the public and the private, the new and the old –​the city offers all these contradictions
as a structural model of a modernist poem. The maze of the urban landscape, which is
continuously changing, reflects and inspires new modernist forms of modern poetry. In
this sense, the city is not just an inspiration for modern poetry; it is the embodiment of its
beauty that emerges from the fashionable, natural and artificial.61 Within the above con-
text, Tamim Al-​Barghouti, a Palestinian-​Egyptian political scientist, poet and columnist,

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wrote an essay that connects Arabic poetry and al Muʿizz Street. The article portrays the
perpetual and temporary paradox, the rest, the ephemeral, the transient and the resident.
Al Muʿizz Street is full of rulers and states’ names from the past, but it gives the pedes-
trian a sense of permanence and continuity.62
Some of these poems depict activities that take place on the street. Amina Jaheen, an
Egyptian poet, wrote:

There are people playing soccer in the street

And people walking and singing
Some people curse each other.
Others kill each other.
Some people sleep on the street.
Others sell their honor on the street.
On the street, many mistakes become accepted facts.
However, it is a scandal
If one day we forget and kiss each other in the street.

Songs and Poetry Portraying Cairo’s Contradictions

Cairo is a complex ecosystem that provides humans with jobs and amenities, and is also
the source of many problems, mainly injustice and pollution. These contradictions often
inspire artists to produce art, such as a song or a poem. Sayed Hegab (1940–​2017), an
Egyptian poet, wrote:

I am Cairo, the charming, the watchful, the concealing, and the exposing
I am Cairo, the bright, the aromatic, the poet. The light and the charitable
I am Cairo, the satirical, the capable, the patient, the rebellious, and the triumphant
I am the echo of the whisper in the crowd and noise
I am the sorrow of the loneliness in the gathering and disperse.
Here is love, deception, and prejudice.
Here is bold cheating and slandering
Here is money spending, collecting, and brokerage
Here is love, truth, mercy, and forgiveness
I am in your vortex going rounds
I scream, “I love you. The most beautiful city”.
Your sad laugh. You are reckless and sober.
I love you and carry your dust on my forehead
I live within you and stand by your gates
I am the gardener; I water your flowers with my blood.
You are the most attractive element in our miserable life
I love you

Injustice in modern Cairo is one of the themes tackled by some poets. Ahmad Fuʾad
Negm (1929–​ 2013), an Egyptian poet, highlights the difference between Zamalek
residents and other “ordinary” Egyptians. He wrote:

The lazy parasites live in Zamalek

Zamalek is paths and routes

223
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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

Try to get near them

You will lose your life

Negm describes them as slothful, obese with enormous bellies and dead brains who have
no morals or ethics. They suck the peasants’ lives, filling their bank accounts with the
blood of the working class. He points out that they are protected by the ruler, media and
clergymen.

Songs Portraying the Centrality of Cairo

Like other cosmopolitan cities, such as New York and Mumbai, Cairo is the subject of
literary works and performing arts. In his collection of poems titled “From the light of
imagination and the making of generations in the history of Cairo”,63 Fuʾad Haddad,
Egyptian poet (1928–​1985), includes several poems, such as al Azhar and Imbaba Bridge.
In his poem Bab al Kẖalq, i.e., the Gate of People, Haddad accentuated Cairo’s primacy.
He wrote:

Once I got out of Hassan al Akbar64

At Bab al Kẖalq around sunset
I saw the moon big and close,
Your eyes go on a staircase to the roof of a house
From here, al Qalʿa ,65 and there is al ʿAtaba66
And on the other side of Muhammad ʿAli Street
The trams are cutting al Kẖalyg67 with a bell going on
To the north is Al ʿAbbasia and āl Zytoon and al Nakẖl
Then to settlements, some called Nagʿ68
And others called Kome69
On the Giza railroad intersection heading to al Ṣaʿeed,70
I am standing at the railway station
And Alexandria.
At Bab al Kẖalq
I am holding a paper bag filled with green beans
She saluted me
You are welcome, my son.

Haddad expresses a clear relationship between himself, his surroundings and the crowds.
For him, there is no difference between Egypt and Cairo –​another sign of Cairo’s cen-
trality. In his diwan71 “Egyptian Egypt sings”, he wrote a poem titled “Neighborhoods of
our country”;72 he says:

Magra alʿyoon 73 took me to al Kẖalyg

I returned to al Qalʿa
To al Sayeda,74 to light candles,
The dream in al Helmeya is a groom
I passed Bab al Kẖalq with lanterns
In Bulaq, I found magnanimity is the way
The people of al Munyra enlighted me

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Sayings and Songs: On the Intangible Culture of Cairo

Haddad’s other collection of poems titled “From the light of imagination and gener-
ational making in the history of Cairo” reflects his perception of the place. In his poem,
“Rosewater and Paradise”,75 he describes Cairo’s histories and quarters, then concludes by:

Cairo spoke the truth

I testify that you, the son of Adam, is beautiful

Songs showing the Transformation of Identity

In 1961, Karim Shukry (1933–​2012), an Egyptian and Lebanese singer, sang:

Take me back to Cairo

Beside the river Nile,
My heart belongs to Cairo, O’ Cairo
Where I have found my smile

Egyptian songs mention quarters of Cairo, depending on the mental image and the
imagination of the listener. For example, al Ghoureya is a quarter in Historic Cairo,76
known for tailoring and selling garments. In one of his songs, Muhammad Qandeel
(1929–​2004), an Egyptian singer, asks those going to al Ghoureya to bring his loved one
a gift. Sabah (1927–​2014), a Lebanese singer, asks her friends traveling to Cairo to bring
her a tray engraved with Tutankhamun’s mask from Khan al Khalili.77
Shubra is one of the most crowded quarters of Cairo. It is an amalgam of Muslims
and Copts and the origin of many talents. Muharram Fuʾad (1930–​2002), an Egyptian
singer, sang:

I love you Shubra

You are muwal78 and opera
Slang and formal
You equally house both Muhammad and Jesus.

The song names many of the physical landmarks of Shubra, such as theaters and cinemas,
tram, streets and roundabouts. The song lists talents born and raised in Shubra, such as
Dalida (1933–​1987), a French singer born in Egypt, who in 1979 sang “The Best People”.
In the last couplet, she introduces herself as:

Oh, I am from Shubra

and its sweet people,
They look like the moon
with dark eyes,
Wearing a necklace of “Arabian jasmine” and jasmine
And the Nile is laughing and singing
It remembers me and asks about me
I go there and find it awaiting me
And next to it, the friendliest people

In the late 1990s, Rico, a folklore singer, mentioned slum areas, such as al Batneya79 and
al Duwiqa.80

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

He concludes by advising the listener, “To gain experience, live with those in popular
quarters in Cairo”. The song pays tribute to informal settlements using vulgar language,
revealing the spread of violence in Cairo’s slums.

I am from al Sayeda, and I know all hearts

Watch out for al Helmeya and their covered naughtiness
Watch out for the girls from al Qalʿa 81
They are smart and clever
Go to al-​Khalifa. The youth is sharp-​witted.
Do not upset them, or they will hurt you
We go to al Duwiqa
They will mug you in a minute
We salute al Batneya

A comparison of Haddad’s poems and the songs of Shukry, Fuʾad and Dalida, on the
one hand, and Rico’s song, on the other, shows the magnitude of the transformations
that have swept Egyptian society since the 1960s, which Amin and Ezzat documented.

Using Cairo in Propaganda in Songs

Songs mentioned the sights of Cairo to mark a historical event. On February 22, 1958,
Nasser declared Egypt and Syria’s unification as the United Arab Republic, with Cairo
as the capital. Propaganda is used to twin districts and landmarks in songs celebrating
the newly established State. Sabah sang: “From al Mousky to al Hammideya.82 I know
the tracks on my own”.
Songs glorifying Nasser used sites and locations in Cairo. Al Talbani (1936–​1989)
mentions Cairo’s prominent landmarks that the visitor to al Jazirah Tower observes by
saying:

From atop al Jazirah Tower

The magnificent old city of pride.
The evidence of our glory and happiness

He concludes the song by asking Allah to bless President Nasser, saying: “O Allah, let
our Gamal be our victorious”.83

Songs Portraying the Injustice of Modern Cairo

Cairo includes pockets of poverty next to the residence of the affluent. It is common to
cross a bridge or a major road and thus move from the residence of one social stratum to
another.84 In 1984, Zein al ʿAbdeen Fuʾad, an Egyptian poet, wrote a song:

Construct your palaces on farmlands

Using our work and effort
The pubs next to factories
The prison instead of the park
Release your dogs on the streets
And lock us in your cells.

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Sayings and Songs: On the Intangible Culture of Cairo

The lyrics reflect class struggle in Egyptian society, where the rich accumulated their
wealth by exploiting the working class using the State as their protector. Fuʾad resonates
with the proverb that Burchard documented and the poem that Negm wrote.
After declaring Egypt a republic, the Free Officers movement announced social justice
as one of its objectives. However, in 2011 the crowds were on the streets, demanding social
justice. In the past decade, underground and hip-​hop music gained acceptance among
young Egyptians. Musicians wrote songs discussing injustice and corruption. Gazaga’s85
song “Theatre and Cinema” portrays the facets of injustice in Egyptian society:

My dear the citizen, My dear the poor

My hopes for tomorrow are diminishing.
Your country is shrinking in terms of land and houses,
Your kids are disappearing coffin atop a coffin,
Your life Afandi86 is worthless
What is your incentive to continue?

Concluding Remarks
By interrogating the linkages between the tangible and intangible culture, it is possible to
trace the details of Cairenes’ lives and the roots of societal transformations resulting from
political, economic, institutional and technological forces. Cairo is a city with extended
histories, an archive and the depository of memories. Juxtaposing the three spatial planes
of Cairo,87 the imagined, the perceived and the lived, we can see that developments of
the built environment brought about transformations to the city’s intangible cultures that
record an event and the location where it took place.
The analysis suggests that Cairo’s iconic buildings and public spaces relate to time and
thus stabilize the community’s memories. Walls, gates, streets and quarters are objects
placed in time occupying a permanent location that multiple individuals use and, thus,
relating to them. Cairenes develop complex relationships that grow into memory resulting
from experience, hence progressing into their perception because the social presence
determines their awareness in relation to nature and their peers. Perception and awareness
develop through a complex series of practices relating the impression-​­concept-​connection
and memory. They allow the possibility to go beyond both space-​time-​­determination and
cause-​consequence-​connection to reveal their usefulness in everyday life.
Popular sayings, proverbs, poetry and songs show the inter-​linkages between place
and practice, emphasizing the value of users’ perception of their tangible culture. For
Cairenes, the wall, the palace, the mosques and other monuments are signs of oppression,
injustice and class struggle. Examples of the intangible culture reviewed in the chapter
suggest that, from the Fatimid era to modern times, Cairenes and Egyptians, in general,
were under successive oppressive regimes.
The circulation of global capital88 and technological advances produce and transform
spaces and places as Cairenes experience them. Capital and technology are instrumental
in societal transformations, yet the modality that oppressive rulers exercise their power
in changing the city seems constant. Despite the contemporary contradictions and failed
planning schemes, Cairo, where the commoners live, survives. Practitioners and scholars
should not only examine interventions in the imagined or the perceived plane, but they
should also give more attention to the lived space because it represents the residents of
the city in more profound and more subtle ways.

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

Notes
1 M. Bouchenaki (2003) “The interdependency of the tangible and intangible cultural heritage”, in
ICOMOS 14th General Assembly and Scientific Symposium. Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe: ICOMOS,
pp. 1–​5.
2 S. Peleg (2019) “Built heritage and intangible heritage in historical urban landscapes”, in
Lira, S., et al. (eds.), Proceedings of the 6th International Conference on Intangible Heritage.
Guimarães, Portugal: Green Lines Institute for Sustainable Development.
3 N. AlSayyad (2011) Cairo. Harvard University Press.
4 The final volume appeared in 1829.
5 H. Abdul Wahab (1941) “Architecture in the Era of Muhammad ʿĀli Pasha (āl ʿmārẗ fy ʿṣr
Mḥmd Āly Bāšā)”, Architecture Magazine (Mijalat Alimara).
6 H. Abdul Wahab (1941). 0158558892293834 (accessed August 10, 2020).
7 D. Singerman and P. Amar (2006) Cairo Cosmopolitan: Politics, Culture, and Urban Space in the
New Globalized Middle East. Cairo, Egypt: The American University in Cairo Press.
8 Cairo is the largest city in Egypt. Cairo is extremely larger than any others in the urban hierarchy.
9 Cairo is the home of the League of Arab States and the Confederation of African Football (CAF).
10 These include the East Mediterranean Regional Office (EMRO) of the World Health
Organization (WHO), the Regional Office for Arab States United Nations Programme for
Human Settlements (HABITAT), Regional Office for the Food and Agricultural Organization
(FAO), and the Arab Office of United Nations International Strategy for Disaster Risk
Reduction (UNISDR).
11 D. Lamb (2011) The Arabs: Journeys Beyond the Mirage. New York: Vintage.
12 Also means major human settlement in Arabic.
13 S. El-​Shakhs (1971) “National Factors in the Development of Cairo”, Town Planning Review,
42(3), p. 233. doi: 10.3828/​tpr.42.3.c573893735683216.
14 A senior researcher at Bibliotheca Alexandrina.
15 R. Zaki (2020) The difference between Alexandria and Cairo (ālfrq byn ālqāhrẗ wā ālāskndryẗ),
Facebook. Translated by A. O. El-​Kholei. Available at: https://​web.faceb​ook.com/​radwa.zaki.37/​
posts/​101585​5889​2293​834 (accessed August 10, 2020).
16 C. Issawi (2018) Ibn Khaldūn, Encyclopædia Britannica. Available at: www.bri​tann​ica.com/​
biogra​phy/​Ibn-​Khal​dun#ref3​455 (accessed December 29, 2018).
17 D. Lamb (2011) The Arabs: Journeys Beyond the Mirage.
18 It is a ghost, a spirit or a goblin used in stories to scare the kids. Mahfouz told his friends about
the crimson vault goblin that appears to people as a military police officer and stops passers-​by
inside the vault and asks them about the time.
19 M.M.El-​ Ashmouni and A.M.Salama (2020) “Contemporary architecture of Cairo
(1990 –​2020): mutational plurality of ‘ISMS’, decolonialism, and cosmopolitanism”, Open
House International, 45(1/​2), pp. 121–​142. doi: 10.1108/​OHI-​04–​2020–​0007.
20 D. Sims (2012) Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City Out of Control. Cairo: American
University in Cairo Press.
21 An analytical tool.
22 H. Haferkamp et al. (2017) “Social Change and Modernity”, pp. 9–​ 11. doi: 10.1080/​
096922997347742.
23 H. Lefebvre (1991) The Production of Space. Translated by D. Nicholson-​Smith. Oxford:
Blackwell.
24 It is a statement from the Old Testament.
25 It is a verse from the Quran related to the story of Noah and the flood. “And so, it sailed with
them amidst waves like hills. And Noah called to his son, who had kept away, O my son! Embark
with us, and do not be with the disbelievers” (11–​42).
26 S. Owais (2013) Cheers of the Silent: The Phenomenon of Writing on Vehicle Structures in
Contemporary Egyptian Society (hetaf al ṣamtīen: ẓaherat al ketabah ʿala hayakel al markabāt
fi al mojtamʿa al masrī). Cairo: The General Egyptian Authority for Book.
27 Many Egyptian proverbs refer to a profession, such as blacksmiths. Other proverbs refer to
a location or an attribute of a population that lives in a particular area. Some proverbs give
business or marriage advice.
28 ālmṯl llklām zy ālbrhān llqḍyẗ.

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29 M. Sabbagh (2000) Studies in popular culture (drāsāt fy ālṯqāf‫ ة‬ālšʿbyẗ). Alexandria: Dar al
Wafaa al Douniya for Printing and Publishing. Available at: https://​books.goo​gle.com.bh/​
books?id=​ZLRxA​AAAM​AAJ; and M.Sabbagh (2017) “Egyptian folk proverbs: a reading
in the structural and formative features (ālāmṯāl ālšʿbyẗ ālmṣryẗ: qrāʾāt fy ālsmʿyāt ālbnāyẗ
wāltkwynātt)”, Popuar Culture (al Thaqafat al Shaʿbiyat), (39), pp. 26–​63.
30 mfyš ḥāǧẗ tsr ālqlb tyǧy mn ālġrb.
31 The leader of the Fatimid army who developed Cairo lived in Sicily.
32 ālly bny Miṣr kān fy ālāṣl ḥlwāny.
33 A. Taymour (2015) The story of the confectioner who built Misr (qṣẗ ālḥlwāny ālḏy bny mṣr),
Archive Egypt (ʾarshīyf misr).
34 āmšy ǧnb ālḥyẗ.
35 M.A. Gomʿa (no date) Walk by the wall (ālsyr ǧnb ālḥyṭ), Al-​Sada Net. Available at: http://​els​
ada.net/​73094/​.
36 ālḥyṭān lhā wdān.
37 tḥt ālqbẗ šyẖ.
38 Many businesspeople would meet to settle a deal. Women would go to meet their friends and
check a bride for a family member.
39 ālly āẖtšwā.mātwā.
40 The fifth and last mandatory prayer that Muslims perform each day.
41 H. Al-​Afifi (2009) “The Story of (Ṭz) is made of Salt and Sarcasm (ḥkāyẗ ‘ṭz’ mn ālmlḥ llthkm
wālsẖryẗ)”, al Youm al Sab’a, January 10.
42 H. Abdul Wahab (1941) “Architecture in the Era of Muhammad ʿĀli Pasha (āl ʿMārẗ fy ʿṣr
Mḥmd Āly Bāšā)”, Architecture Magazine (Mijalat Alimara).
43 J.L. Burckhardt (1873) Arabic Proverbs; or The Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians,
illustrated from their proverbial sayings current at Cairo. Second edition. Edited by W. Ouseley.
Translated by J. L. Burckhardt. London: Harrison and Sons.
44 ʿlšān ybny qṣr yhd Miṣ; in Arabic, the word Misr means a settlement, a city, or Egypt or Cairo.
45 They still use these proverbs to illustrate their discontent with Governmental plans that the
public perceives as serving the interests of a particular group that support the ruler. To that end,
Egyptians articulated a proverb that is a plea to the rulers to be kinder and gentler by saying:
You who rule us, take care of us
We are the slaves whom you bought
46 krāmẗ lqṣrk thd ẖṣy?
47 G. Amin (1999) What happened to the Egyptians?The development of Egyptian society in the
half-​century of 1945–​1995 (māḏā ḥdṯ llmṣryyn‫ ؟‬tṭwr ālmǧtmʿ ālmṣry fy nṣf qrn 1945–​1999).
Cairo: Egyptian General Authority for the Book.
48 For example, holding wedding parties in hotels and bragging about spending the summer vac-
ation on the North Coast.
49 A. Ezzat (1997) Transformations in the Egyptian Character (āltḥwlāt fy ālšẖṣyẗ ālmṣryẗ).
Cairo: Dal al Helal.
50 A. Ezzat (1997).
51 āldbān ālāzrq māyʿrflwš ṭryq ǧrẗ.
52 mā ynwl wā yṭwl ālā fy ālblāḍ ālmsʾwl.
53 āḏā ārdt ‫أ‬ān tnǧz fʿlyk bālwnǧz. Wings is a brand of cigarettes.
54 The multistory garage at the Cairo railway station, known a Ramsis Garage, built then demolished
before its inauguration. Ragheb, K. (2014, August 2). Construction and demolition of Ramses
Garage. A form of waste of money (‫إ‬nšāʾ ǧrāǧ rmsys whdmh..nmwḏǧ l‫إ‬hdār āl‫أ‬mwāl). Al Masry
Al Youm. www.almasr​yaly​oum.com/​news/​deta​ils/​493​368 (accessed November 30, 2020).
55 mrrt mn tḥt āltrābyzẗ.
56 hbrẗ fy ālyġmẗ.
57 ālṭbẖẗ bāẓt wryḥthā fāḥt.
58 ḥāsb mn ālfḥt ltqʿ tḥt.
59 In 2009, a UNDP-​issued Arab Human Devlopment report concluded that the political, social,
economic and environmental structures of the Arab region are fragile and vulnerable to outside
intervention. Robert Fisk wrote in the Independent on July 28, 2009, a commentary pointing to
the report and its conclusions. He wrote: [The Arabs] do not feel that they own their countries … .
I think they do not feel that sense of belonging which Westerners feel. And of course, the

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Ahmed O. El-Kholei

moment a movement comes along and becomes popular, emergency laws are introduced to
make these movements illegal or “terrorist”.
60 For example, the Mamluk rulers (1250–​1517) employed many scholars who wrote collections
of poetry, letters, anecdotes, analyses and commentaries. Tuttle (2018) analyzed many of these
transcripts to conclude that Cairo and other cities, which the Mamluk governed, were inter-
changeable grounds for those scholars who wrote them. These scholars took advantage of social
networks to advance their business. Cities, at that time, were connected and borderless. Since
the local politics during that era was volatile, a scholar who fails in one city might succeed in
another (Tuttle, K. (2018) “The Mamluk City as Overlapping Personal Networks”, in Hermes,
N.F., and Head, G. (eds.), The City in Arabic Literature. Oxford: Edinburgh University Press
(Classical and Modern Perspectives), pp. 124–​137. Available at: www.jstor.org/​sta​ble/​10.3366/​
j.ctv7n0​8xg.11).
61 H. Fakhreddine and B. Orfali (2018) “Against Cities: On hijā’ al-​mudun in Arabic Poetry”,
in Hermes, N., and Head, G. (eds.), The City in Pre-​Modern and Modern Arabic Literature.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 38–​62.
62 T. Al-​Barghouti (2019) Al Mu’iz Street. AJ+​. Available at: www.yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​92o3​
jccp​Vrs&feat​ure=​youtu.be (accessed September 2, 2020).
63 Mn Nwr āl Kẖayāl wa Ṣnʿ āl‫أ‬Āǧyāl fy Tārykẖ āl Qāhrẗ.
64 A major street on the edge of Historic Cairo.
65 Where the Citadel is.
66 A significant hub that forms with Ataba and Tahrir Square the downtown of Cairo.
67 A branch of the Nile that went through old Cairo, known today as Port Saeed Street.
68 Villages of Upper Egypt are often given these names as they are bounded by the desert and the
valley.
69 Villages of Lower Egypt are given this name as they are usually higher lands overseeing the
swaps of Nile Delta.
70 Upper Egypt.
71 A collection of Arabic poems that a poet wrote on a specific topic.
72 Āḥyāʾ Beladnā.
73 The aquaduct that carries the water from the Nile to Saladin’s citadel.
74 A quarter named after Zaynab bint Ali, the granddaughter of Prophet Muhammad (PBUH).
75 Māʾ Wrd wa Ǧanẗ.
76 It includes a collection of buildings that Mameluke the Sultan al Ghouri constructed.
77 Another quarter within Historic Cairo known for handmade silver and copper goods.
78 Muwal is a long-​known type of Arabic folk poetry.
79 Cairo’s notorious center for drug-​dealing at that time.
80 A squatter settlement developed nearby al Muqqattam hill.
81 The Citadel area.
82 al Mousky and al Hammidiya are two markets in Cairo and Damascus, respectively.
83 The word Nasser in Arabic means victorious.
84 For example, Zamalek is an island within the Nile, with pubs and international cafes, such
as Starbucks. On its eastern side is Bulaq, and on the other is Kitkat, two slums that house
marginalized populations with traditional Egyptian cafes.
85 Gazaga is a term used in Minya, Upper Egypt, for the streetlight posts.
86 It is a Turkish title used to address to the junior government employees. It means the master.
87 In his book, The Right to the City, Lefebvre introduced the concept of the three planes of a city.
The first is the planned space, which consists of parks, districts, squares, roads, buildings, and
the like. The second plane is where people live and cope. The third plane is the ultimate result
of the interaction of the planned and lived spaces affecting the lives of all users and residents of
the city. (Source: Lefebvre, H. (1967) “Le droit à la ville”, L’Homme et la société, 5(1), pp. 29–​35.
doi: 10.3406/​homso.1967.1063.)
88 During the Medival times, international trade between Europe and the east and southeast Asia
was the reason for the wealth of Cairo that enabled Egyptian rulers to develop quarters and
buildings that fascinated visitors. During the reign of Khedaive Ismail, the rise of prices of
cotton enabled him to expand Cairo. In association with the rise of prices of oil, the develop-
ment of Cairo continued.

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Burckhardt, J.L. (1873) Arabic Proverbs; or The Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians,
illustrated from their proverbial sayings current at Cairo. 2nd edn. Edited by W. Ouseley. Translated
by J.L. Burckhardt. London: Harrison and Sons.
El-​Ashmouni, M.M., and Salama, A.M. (2020) “Contemporary architecture of Cairo (1990–
2020): mutational plurality of ‘ ISMS ’, decolonialism, and cosmopolitanism”, Open House
International, 45(1/​2), pp. 121–​142. doi: 10.1108/​OHI-​04-​2020-​0007.
El-​Shakhs, S. (1971) “National Factors in the Development of Cairo”, Town Planning Review,
42(3), p. 233. doi: 10.3828/​tpr.42.3.c573893735683216.
Ezzat, A. (1997) Transformations in the Egyptian Character (āltḥwlāt fy ālšẖṣyẗ ālmṣryẗ). Cairo: Dal
al Helal.
Fakhreddine, H., and Orfali, B. (2018) “Against Cities: On hijā’ al-​mudun in Arabic Poetry”,
in Hermes, N., and Head, G. (eds.), The City in Pre-​Modern and Modern Arabic Literature.
Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 38–​62.
Gomʿa, M. A. (no date) Walk by the wall (ālsyr ǧnb ālḥyṭ), Al-​Sada Net. Available at: http://​els​ada.
net/​73094/​ (Accessed: August 7, 2020).
Haferkamp, H., et al. (2017) “Social Change and Modernity”, pp. 9–​ 11. doi: 10.1080/​
096922997347742.
Issawi, C. (2018) Ibn Khaldūn, Encyclopædia Britannica. Available at: www.bri​tann​ica.com/​biogra​
phy/​Ibn-​Khal​dun#ref3​455 (accessed December 29, 2018).
Lamb, D. (2011) The Arabs: Journeys Beyond the Mirage. New York: Vintage.
Lefebvre, H. (1991) The Production of Space. Translated by D. Nicholson-​Smith. Oxford.
Owais, S. (2013) Cheers of the Silent: The Phenomenon of Writing on Vehicle Structures in
Contemporary Egyptian Society (hetaf al ṣamtīen: ẓaherat al ketabah ʿala hayakel al markabāt fi
al mojtamʿa al masrī). Cairo: The General Egyptian Authority for Book.
Peleg, S. (2019) “Built heritage and intangible heritage in historical urban landscapes”, in Lira, S.,
et al. (eds.), Proceedings of the 6th International Conference on Intangible Heritage. Guimarães,
Portugal: Green Lines Institute for Sustainable Development.
Sabbagh, M. (2000) Studies in popular culture (drāsāt fy ālṯqāf‫ ة‬ālšʿbyẗ). Alexandria: Dar al Wafaa
al Douniya for Printing and Publishing. Available at: https://​books.goo​gle.com.bh/​books?id=​
ZLRxA​AAAM​AAJ.
—​—​—​. (2017) “Egyptian folk proverbs: a reading in the structural and formative features (ālāmṯāl
ālšʿbyẗ ālmṣryẗ: qrāʾāt fy ālsmʿyāt ālbnāyẗ wāltkwynātt)”, Popuar Culture (al Thaqafat al
Shaʿbiyat) (39), pp. 26–​63.
Sims, D. (2012) Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City Out of Control. Cairo: American
University in Cairo Press.
Taymour, A. (2015) The story of the confectioner who built Misr (qṣẗ ālḥlwāny ālḏy bny mṣr),
Archive Egypt (ʾarshīyf misr). Available at: http://​arch​iveg​ypt.com/​‫​ مصر‬-‫​ بنا‬-‫​ الذي‬-‫​ الحلو​ انى‬-‫قصة‬/​
(accessed August 7, 2020).
Zaki, R. (2020) The difference between Alexandria and Cairo (ālfrq byn ālqāhrẗ wā ālāskndryẗ),
Facebook. Translated by A. O. El-​ Kholei. Available at: https://​web.faceb​ook.com/​radwa.
zaki.37/​posts/​101585​5889​2293​834 (accessed August 10, 2020).

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14
CAIRO THROUGH HER EYES
Space and Gender Dynamics in Naguib
Mahfouz’s Bayn Al-​Qasrayn

Mohammad Salama

The Trilogy stands out as the crown of Mahfouz’s literary production. It is the only
multi-​voluminous work he ever composed, with an architectural tri-​partite narrative. The
work is a novelistic masterpiece that spans 27 years of Egypt’s most climactic political
moments of the last century. In the Trilogy, Mahfouz captures the distinctive beauty of
the old city and the rise of the modern metropolis in Cairo. Peculiarly enough, Mahfouz
chooses to center his interweaving plots on a multi-​generational middle-​class family from
Old Cairo, a stratum of Egyptian society responsible for effecting major changes in the
course of modern Egyptian life, including the launch of the 1919 revolution with which
the Trilogy begins. The desires and aspirations of this class represent a pregnant moment
in the history of modern Egypt, one which Mahfouz delineates masterfully, especially
in his portrayal of gender dynamics, interpersonal relationships and the connections
between characters and space. The Trilogy’s first part, Bayn al-​Qasrayn, which is the
focus of this chapter, sets the course for deep and complex interactions between the sexes
and their attached spaces in a fictional space between, a mise en scène of the middle, that
is Bayn al-​Qasrayn (literally, between the two palaces) of the Old Fatimid Cairo. After
all, the two Fatimid palaces were the initial royal city, they were al-​Qahira, where Cairo
got her name, and the space between them represented the essence of the city then and
for many centuries to follow.
Barbara Johnson opens one of her essays in The Critical Difference with the following
statement: “If human beings were not divided into two biological sexes, there would
probably be no need for literature. And if literature could truly say what the relations
between the sexes are, we would doubtless not need much of it, either”.1 These lines sum
up the main topic of this chapter and serve as an appropriate approach to the space
and gender dynamics at play in the delineations of the Old Cairo in Mahfouz’s Trilogy.
So far, Cairo remains the most prominently depicted city in modern and contemporary
Arabic literature. A great deal of this prominence is owed to the buzzing dynamism of a
city that rarely sleeps. Many modern and contemporary Egyptian novelists have, whether
consciously or not, found themselves allowing Cairo to seep into the architectural realms
of their novelistic spaces. We see these artistic “presences” depicted most prominently in
the fiction of the late Nobel Prize laureate Naguib Mahfouz, who, but for rare exceptions,
makes Cairo both the setting and the unspoken hero of almost all his novels. The aim of

232 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-16

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Cairo Through Her Eyes: Naguib Mahfouz’s Bayn Al-​Qasrayn

this chapter is to examine the relationship between the topographical register of Cairo’s
external and internal spaces in relationship to this tension of “biological sexes” that
Johnson claims creates literature itself, through the development of both characters and
themes in the narrative realm of Mahfouz’s first volume of Trilogy. In particular, I aim
to examine the tensions between the home (as inside) and the streets or public spaces (as
outside) in Bayn al Qasrayn. The focus will most notably be on the forceful differences
between what Michel de Certeau defines as “strategy” versus “tactics”, or as he puts
it, “a calculus force-​relationships in which a subject of will and power can be isolated
from an environment” versus another “which cannot count on a ‘proper’ place (a spatial
or institutional location), nor thus on a borderline distinguishing the other as a visible
totality”.2 How are these calculi exactly represented in the ins and outs of the Cairo of
Bayn al-​Qasrayn? What gender dynamics drive their representations, and what happens
when these spatial worlds clash with one another? What boundaries will be violated, what
structures of topographical power will fade? and what new identarian or socio-​spatial
constructs will emerge in their aftermath?
In de Certeau’s theory there are two opposing dynamics of space; strategies and
tactics. Strategies are inherited. They are the tradition and the status quo which always
presume control over a place circumscribed as “proper”. On the other hand, “The place
of a tactic”, writes de Certeau, “belongs to the other [that it takes on]. A tactic insinuates
itself into the other’s place ... without taking it over and without being able to keep
it at a distance” (xix).3 In Mahfouzian terms, such tactics often manifest themselves
in the narrative delineations of gender and/​or power relations by either affirming the
dominion of subjects over space or de-​spatializing these subjects altogether. As we see
in what follows, certain Mahfouzian subjects can roam freely between the inside and
outside space of Cairo while others cannot enjoy the same spatial movements without
grave consequences, but none with “tactics”. In the world of Mahfouz’s Trilogy, these
depictions of what mobilities in the spaces of Old Cairo are considered allowed or for-
bidden symptomatize the city of Cairo itself as an embodiment of a colonial subject
negotiating its independence not only from the tyranny of its occupier but also from the
oppressive spatial strategies of its male-​dominated society.
The Arab novelist ‘Abd al-​Rahman Munif reminds us that “cities resemble humans.
In order to establish a relationship with a city, one has to feel safe and intimately in love;
one has to feel that such city means something special, something that cannot be replaced
with another city”.4 Of all Mahfouz’s novels, the Trilogy captures this degree of intimacy
and love of Mahfouz for the old quarters of the city of Cairo quite vividly. In the Trilogy,
Cairo stands out not only because of the minute and intimate depictions of its insides
and outsides in a unique multi-​volume work of art, but also because Mahfouz manages
with his novelistic genius to turn the city into what Sharif al-​Shaf’i eloquently describes
as “a singularity of an old city transformed into an emblem of human universality, a
city everyone could identify with”.5 Uniquely as well, the Trilogy portrays the extensive
architectural evolvement and geographical growth of Cairo over the span of 27 years.
During those years, historical Cairo moved from colonization to decolonization to post
colonization, undergoing a titanic revolt (the 1919 Revolution), two world wars, as well as
many socio-​political upheavals, including the emergence of the Muslim Brotherhood, the
rise of socialism and the upsurge of academic secularism at the hands of Taha Hussein,
Tawfiq al-​Hakim, and others.6
The chronological events and scopic spaces of the Trilogy start with a depiction of the
life of its major character, al-​Sayyid Ahmad ‘Abd al-​Gawwad7 (SAAG, henceforward),

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his wife, his children and his grandchildren in the old city of Cairo between 1917 and
1944. SAAG is a renowned merchant who owns a store in the old quarter of al-​Hussein.
The Trilogy’s opening part, Bayn al-​Qasrayn (which takes the eponym of a real Old Cairo
quarter, as do the other two parts), begins with introducing SAAG as a family man,
married to Amina, with three sons, Yasin, Fahmy, Kamal, and two daughters, Khadiga
and ‘Aisha. SAAG is a walking contradiction who oscillates radically between the inside
and the outside. In his neighborhood and at home, he is a man of deep religious feelings
who never misses a daily prayer or a day of fasting in the month of Ramadan. Outside
his familiar surroundings, he is a man of a lascivious nature who enjoys free-​style rendez-
vous and affairs with female singers and belly dancers and “hours of drinking, laughing,
singing and happy times with his closest circle”.8 At home, he is stern, solemn and dicta-
torial with his wife and children. Outside, he does not miss a moment of corporeal indul-
gence with his night mates:

He enjoyed expensive food, aged wine, attractive countenance and would avail
himself of them all in merriness and gaiety without guilt of shame. He felt that
he was enjoying what was rightfully granted to him without any contradiction
whatsoever between the right of life and the right of God. Not for a single hour
of his life had he ever felt that he was drifting away from God or that he could
be a subject of God’s wrath.9

SAAG walks freely to and from his store located in front of Barquq Mosque in the
Nahhasin neighborhood;10 he frequents the mosque and roams the cafes. But he also
has a secret life outside the quarters of Old Cairo. He hates the war and in particular
he resents “the Aussie soldiers who were spread in the city like locusts”,11 not neces-
sarily because of the Occupation, but because they prevent him from going to his favorite
neighborhood of Azbakeyya for his drinking and singing nights. Sometimes he has to
perform a bit of de Certeauvian maneuver to avoid them, but it is too dangerous for him
to risk losing his prestige, especially when the soldiers are morally corrupt, irresponsible
and aggressive to natives.12
Amina is at peace in her brief daily hour within the space of the rooftop. In de
Certeauvian terms, Amina’s “city tactics” are only imaginable, at least in the first part
of the Trilogy. She reflects on the outside of Cairo, which she can see but cannot under-
stand. She has never physically experienced the city except visually through the confined
spaces of her rooftop:

This wonderous space of the roof … its southern side overlooks al-​Nahhasin
neighborhood, where her hands once planted a unique garden in the bygone
years, a garden with no equal among the other roofs in the neighborhood where
the surfaces are usually covered with veneers of chicken dirt. She started this
garden first with small planters of carnation and roses, then kept adding more
and more each year until they have now turned into rows arranged in line with the
fence … . Only this roof is her charming and beloved abode, her greatest solace
in a world of which she knew nothing … . She is struck with the sight of the erect
minarets and their profound associations. Some she could see at a close range to
the point where she could clearly make out the lanterns and the crescent adorning
them, like the minarets of Qalawun and Barquq; others not so far, but they only

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appear as a cluster and not individually, like the minarets of al-​Hussein, al-​Ghuri,
and al-​Azhar; a third group she could only see from a very far horizon, appearing
like specters, such as the minarets of the Citadel and al-​Rifa‘i … . She ponders
on the roof’s fence as if gazing into the unknown, the unknown to all people,
the otherworldly, and the unknown only to herself –​this city of Cairo … .What
is this world of which she has seen nothing but the minarets and roofs close to
her home? A quarter of a century has elapsed since she became a prisoner in this
house, a house she has only managed to leave on infrequent occasions to visit her
mother in the Kharafish neighborhood. Every time she leaves the house, SAAG
must accompany her with a horse carriage because he does not want anyone to
lay eyes on her, whether she were by herself or with him. She is neither indignant
nor outraged about it. When her eyes penetrate the gaps between the jasmine
flowers and the ivy leaves, reflecting on the space beyond the roof, the space of the
minarets and the nearby roofs, she asks herself: where is the Law School where
Fahmy must be sitting now? Where is Khalil Agha School which he assures me
is only a minute away from al-​Hussein mosque? Before she has to leave the roof,
she opens up her palms in prayers: ‘God, I ask you to look after my master and
my children, my mother and Yasin, and to take care of all people, Muslims and
Christians. Even the English, God, please drive them out of our lands for the sake
of Fahmi; he does not like them.’13

In writing her own blurred text of Cairo from the rooftop, periscope-​ing it through
flowers and fences, Amina, the well-​mannered daughter of an Azharite Sheikh, manages

Figure 14.1 The Qalawun complex.

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Mohammad Salama

Figure 14.2 The madrasa of Barquq.

for a brief moment of reflection to immobilize patriarchal mystifications without immo-

bilizing herself. Much of the novelistic space Mahfouz grants her seems delineated with
this artistic narrative relief in mind, confirming Mahfouz’s dual commitment to integrity
and aesthetics in a world that seems to lack both. Here, an important question about
narrative necessity invites itself. What can one learn from the roof scene about a narrative
method that will hit the middle space between text and city and leave both unresolved?
The passage above offers an answer to this question by portraying Amina as an ultimate
epitome of invisible inside-​ness. SAAG has kept her womanhood, her entire ipseity, in
a constant state of entrapment. There is no space for Amina. She has to create her own
amidst the tyranny of the patriarch. Even a visit to her mother is cautiously guarded
by male supervision. In SAAG’s world, there is no outside for women. He sees Amina
and his two daughters as objects of the inside. When Amina goes outside, in public, in
his mind she is to be looked at, even gazed at and objectified rather than being an agent

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Cairo Through Her Eyes: Naguib Mahfouz’s Bayn Al-​Qasrayn

capable of looking at and experiencing the visual spaces of the city. The outside is the
domain of the male gaze, a gaze he practices and knows all too well, and which he cannot
allow to fall upon his family.
The Trilogy, which begins with Amina’s anxious wait for SAAG to come back home
from his late night outings in the city, soon drags Amina into the sea of his aggressive
masculinity. Not only is she denied the outside, but she is also denied any discussion or
negotiation of that outside with her husband. Even a slight conjugal protestation against
SAAG’s excessive late home returns every night is immediately met with physical abuse,
outrage and threats:

It occurred to her once, during their first year of marriage, to express politely her
disapproval of his continuous habit to come home late every night. He imme-
diately pressed on her ears with his fingers and shouted in a stern tone: ‘I am
a man; I am the one who gives orders and prohibitions. I do not accept any
comment on my behavior. All you need to do is obey. So beware, and do not
make me discipline you.”14

One clear norm characterizes the social mobility and the inside/​outside dynamics of Bayn
al-​Qasrayn: a division of gender labor and a gendered division of labor. Amina’s physical
experience of the city, if one can say so, is in the prison-​house of marriage. Her universe is
structured around a series of primary spatial limitations between various architectures of
the inside of her conjugal home. She is the queen of the inside, the princess of the kitchen
and the sovereign of the confined spaces of her home:

In this space she is the one and only queen. This kitchen oven burns or fades by
her command; the destiny of coal and firewood fuel in the right corner of the
room is in her hands. The hearth in the opposite side lying under shelves of pots,
dishes, and the cobble tray, lightens up with flames only under her direction.
Here she is the mother, the wife, the teacher and the artist everyone trusts and
longs for what her hands present to them.15

From the examples of the rooftop and the kitchen, we can see how Amina’s character is
acquiescent with imposed social structures. She prefers to seek contentment and godliness
in what she has access to and refrains from protesting her lack of access to the outside.
She has convinced herself that the outside is overlaid with complexity and bewilderment,
thus reinforcing and internalizing the gender division imposed upon her, and possibly
on all women of her social status in Old Cairo. She fully resigns herself to the patri-
archal axiom that “attributes of manhood must include staying outside late and acting
like a despot … a sort of evil better than others. She’s determined not to allow these
evil thoughts ruin her domestic bliss”.16 The outside in Bayn al-​Qasrayn is the domain
of men, young, old, occupied and occupiers. The Trilogy’s opening chapters make this
distinction quite clear. Part of Amina still yearns for the outside, but only as an after-
thought. For instance, she is delighted when SAAG talks to her about the outside world
of Cairo as if she knew anything about it:

Amina listened to him with deep interest and happiness. Her interest stems from
a natural yearning to news coming from the outside world of which she knows
nothing; her happiness emanates from her husband just talking to her about

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Mohammad Salama

grave matters concerning the nation, matters she would delightfully share with
her children, especially her two daughters who are completely ignorant of the
outside world.17

Artistic intelligence, or probably just political correctness, enables Mahfouz to avoid

the blind spot of identity politics when he describes his male and female characters. He
maintains a Hardian sense of fate and inevitability when assigning an “inside” and an
“outside” to his characters. SAAG, Yasin, Fahmi and (later) Kamal can roam the city
uninhibited, while Amina and her daughters can only “rush to the mashrabeyya, stand
behind its window overlooking the Nahhasin neighborhood to watch through its narrow
holes the men of the family as they walk out to the street”.18 The mashrabeyya19 stands
as a quintessential element of the architectural home geometry of Old Cairo, a contact
point between the inside and the outside and a limited visual access to the bustling world
of Cairo. It is designed in the best way a home structure could ever befit the likes of
SAAG: a way for his wife and daughters to see without being seen. As Amina looks at
them from the mashrabeyya as they gradually disappear from sight, she recites the Qur’an
and prays that God protect her family against “ ‘the evil of the envious’, until they are no
longer in sight”.20
Amina is thus the anti-​flâneur par excellence, either the antithesis of Baudelaire’s
passionate spectator of the city,21or a converted and confined feminine mirror of him. If
Baudelaire’s flâneur walks detachedly around the city in lust for seeing and in constant
accumulation of knowledge, Amina and the women in Mahfouz’s Bayn al-​Qasrayn are
glued to the familiar sights, smells and sounds of their surroundings, which they only
have access to through the roof and the mashrabeyya. If the flaneur is a free and unin-
hibited male roamer who feels most at home outside with crowds and with no human
attachments, Amina, who is a mother first and foremost, is deeply inhibited and pro-
foundly attached to her family. The flaneur experiences the city as a visual promiscuity.
Amina’s only wonder-​lust is for a spiritual visit. If there is only one place in the city she
desires to visit, it is the Hussein mosque. Amina is not a wanderer of the city, not in the
least, and not by her own choice, though she is still an adamant observer of the damaging
effects of patriarchy and colonialism. The readers’ empathy for Amina stems exactly from
her non-​flâneurian vulnerabilities. Amina the wife is lonely, subjugated, confined and
betrayed. Amina the mother is the wellspring of love and compassion for her children,
the manager of their daily affairs, and the relentless secret performer of prayers for their
success and protection.
While Amina knows virtually nothing about politics, her inside-​ness is deeply polit-
ical, forced upon her by chauvinistic practices and constructed stigmas associated with
women stepping outside their socially demarcated borders. Her isolation may appear
personal but it is profoundly collective and reflective of the very city she cannot experi-
ence. Even though she cannot experience much of the outside of Cairo, Amina is part
of Cairo in its ugly and endearing internal complexities. Amina is not a woman, mother
or wife who merely represents her city or country; Mahfouz knows well that this colonial
motif is outdated. Amina is not the woman symbolizing or standing for the city,
but rather a woman in the city. Even when she and the girls are isolated and somewhat
deprived of the outside, they are still in the city, together, experiencing snippets of its
material enormity and weight. In a sense, Mahfouz is telling us that Cairo can very well
be experienced peripherally and that only in the periphery do the aesthetics of the city
come to life and appeal to the senses: the far horizons and vaporous minarets glanced

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Figure 14.3 A traditional Mashrabeyya.

from the top of a roof, the jingling horse-​carts mixed with the clopping of hooves and the
squeaking leather of the street carriage; the reins on the horses as they rub together; the
coughs and spits of hookah smokers mingled with the waiter’s loud calls for orders in
the café just below the mashrabeyya. Cairo is a heap of fragmented sensual images,
impossible to capture in one enormous totality.
The men in Bayn al-​Qasryn can move freely through Cairo’s urban spaces. Mahfouz’s
novelistic genius lies in interlacing narratives of confinement with counter-​narratives of
mobility. The externalization of the city of Cairo which begins in Chapter 8 of Bayn al-​
Qasrayn balances the internalization of old Cairo in the constricted inside of the home.
In Chapter 8, Mahfouz depicts Kamal’s flâneur-​ish experience of the city on his way

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Mohammad Salama

home from school as a counter-​narrative to the confinements of his mother and sisters
which we witness in earlier chapters, especially Chapters 2 and 6, setting the stage for a
potential future clash of values or revolt:

In the afternoon, Khalil Agha school is out as Kamal elbows his way through
crowded currents of students blocking the way and slowly parting ways; some
making to al-​Darrasa, others to al-​Sikka al-​Gadida, and a third group heading
towards al-​Hussein. Some students loiter and chase after street vendors who
meet them as they get out with baskets filled with roasted melon seeds, peanuts,
doum palm fruit, and candy … . The young boy could not wait to leave school.
While the sound of the bell announcing the end of the school day filled his heart
with joy, the fresh breeze of freedom outside the school gate did not erase from
his heart the echoes of his favorite last class on religion. On his way home, he
passed by Matossian Smoke Shop. As his habit, he paused under its signboard,
raising his young eyes to the colorful ad which features a woman leaning on a
divan, in-​between her crimson lips a cigarette emitting a crooked line of flying
smoke, as she supports her arm on the edge of a window whose receding curtains
reveal a field of palm trees and a Nile streamlet … . He broke through the path
to al-​Hussein while reading al-​Fatiha, then he turned towards Khan Ga‘far
and from there to Bayt al-​Qadi. But instead of heading home straight through
al-​Nahhasin, he crossed the square to Darb Qirmiz, despite its desolateness and
fear-​arousing sights, in order to avoid passing through his father’s store.22

Walking the streets of old Cairo is a source of guilty pleasure for young Kamal. But it is
also a source of fearful asymmetry. The risky de Certeauvian maneuver, or daily tactic,
which he enacts by walking through a terrifying place in order to avoid an encounter
with his father on his way back home from school is symbolic of the price he is willing
to pay to be the master of his daily experience of the city space. Kamal avoids the so-​
called “strategy” of walking and opts for a risky deviation, a “tactic” which de Certeau
characterizes as a “wander(ing) out of orbit”, and sign that shows the extent to which
intelligence is inseparable from the everyday struggles and pleasures that it articulates”.23
Tactics are dangerous because they seek to elude the “power” that hides under the garb
of the “proper” and the “expected”. “The proper”, de Certeau reminds us, “ is a victory
of space over time”.24 The “proper” does not care about time. Its goal is to modulate and
moderate an ordered experience of external space. That is why Kamal’s tactic to avoid al-​
Nahhasin and venture through Darb Qirmiz25 is revolutionary and bold given his young
age. His is an experience of Cairo in the full etymological origins of the word “experi-
ence”, in peirā and ex-​periri, an experience executed with fear but without reserve, given
over to the perils and demons of the frightful space of Darb Qirmiz. In a sense, young
Kamal exposes himself to the fearful spaces of Old Cairo like the pirate (peirātēs) who
freely tries his luck on the high seas, or, as de Certeau puts it, “who is always on the watch
for opportunities that must be seized ‘on the wing’ ”.26 Kamal pushes the boundaries of
patriarchal control a few times in Bayn al-​Qasrayn, such as when he dangerously and
recklessly climbs a ladder over to the rooftop to the dismay of his mother, and eventually
the wrath of his father who gives him a beating for it.27 Kamal’s tactics in the spaces of
Old Cairo externalize his inner revolt against the monstrosity of his father and, just like
Amina’s internal sanctuary on the roof, Kamal’s external sojourn reasserts his inalienable
right to his own pleasurable and uninhibited, though fearful, experience of Old Cairo.

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Kamal is so sensitive to the sensibilities and chagrins of his mother. He knows how
much she yearns for the outside, and in particular for a visit to the sacred shrine of
al-​Hussein. When he comes back home from school, he tries to describe to her what he
learns, what he sees and where the Hussein mosque is located. When SAAG has decided
on a weekend business trip to Port Saʿid, the children seize the opportunity to convince
Amina to visit al-​Hussein during his absence. Yasin even assures her that she could
“borrow Um Hanafi’s milaya (body winding sheet) so that if someone sees you leave or
come back to the house, they will mistake you for a guest”.28 Kamal offers to go with her
and show her the way while Fahmi thoughtfully and encouragingly agrees that “it is high
time you cast a look on this world. Take it easy on yourself. I fear that you will forget
how to walk after all this time of confinement in the house”.29 Amina’s liberation walk
towards al-​Hussein’s mosque is one of the most moving and climactic scenes in modern
Arabic literature:

Her walk was staggering and shaky as if she were learning to walk for the first
time. She felt embarrassed that people will be looking at her, people whom she
had known for a very long time from behind the mashrabeyya –​‘am Hasanin
the barber, Darwish the beans seller, al-​Fuli the milkman, Bayyumi the juice
seller, and Abu Sri‘, owner of the roasting shop –​she thought they would all
recognize her as she recognized them. She found it hard to recall the basic fact
that none of them had ever laid eyes on her. They crossed the alley towards
Darb Qirmiz because it is the shortest cut to the Hussein mosque; it does not
lead to SAAG’s store in al-​Nahhasin and is far less travelled by. She stopped
and looked back towards the mashrabeyya and could see the ghosts of her two
daughters hiding behind one of the panes, and the faces of Yasin and Fahmi.
This gave her courage as she continued to walk with her little boy past al-​Darb
with more confidence. Kamal proudly assumed the role of a guide and began
describing the sites to her: “this is the famous Qirmiz Vault; one must recite
al-​Fatiha before entry, for protection against the demons inhabiting it. And this
is Bayt al-​Qadi Plaza with its high trees”. He calls it “Dhaqn al-​Basha Plaza”
after the name of the flowers on top of the trees, and sometime he also calls it
“Shangarralli Plaza”, in reference to the Turkish Chocolate vendor … . They
then turned towards Khan Ga‘far road and could see from a distance a part of
the external façade of the Hussein mosque, with gloriously bedecked window
at its center studded with Arabic ornaments, and above it on the roof fence
they could see rows of windows that look like heads of spears. She exclaimed,
as joy was throbbing through her chest, ‘the holy Hussein?’ When he said yes,
she started to compare the site she was approaching, while speeding up for the
first time since she left home, with the mental image her mind had created by
relying on other mosques she could catch sight of, like Qalawon and Barquq
… . When her feet touched the floor of the mosque, she felt that her body was
melting with tenderness, affection, and kindness and that she was morphing into
a flying spirit fluttering her wings into the sky. She engulfed the space with avid
and eager eyes, its walls, ceiling, pillars, rugs, chandeliers, pulpit and niches.30

Amina’s journey towards and inside the Hussein mosque is the histrionic centerpiece
of Bayn al-​Qasrayn. Everything in the narrative leads to this revolutionary clash of
constructed spatial boundaries. She is no longer a property of the “inside”. Although

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Mohammad Salama

Figure 14.4 The mosque of al-​Hussein.

SAAG punishes and even expells Amina after finding out that she left the house without
his permission, she does not have an iota of regret in her heart. She has now “drunk from
the sweet waters but has not drunk her fill. Her thirst cannot be quenched”.31
Until this moment, SAAG has been in control of both the inside and outside when
it comes to the mobility of his family, or so he thought. He refuses to marry ‘Aisha
to an officer who works at the Gammaleyya Police Department on suspicion that he
“might have seen” her, thus breaking the “female concealment” rule he lives by. Instead,
he marries her and her sister Khadiga to two siblings who descend from a land-​owning

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Cairo Through Her Eyes: Naguib Mahfouz’s Bayn Al-​Qasrayn

well-​to-​do Turkish family. He objects to Fahmy’s desire to marry his neighbor, Mariam,
because he thinks his son is too young to think of marriage and that he must focus on his
university degree. Despite SAAG’s strong allegiance to the National Party, he shows his
support to the efforts of the Wafd Party at the spark of the 1919 Revolution by replacing
the portrait of his own father in his store with a portrait of Sa ‘d Zaghlul. But this
visual display of political support is pretty much the extent of his patriotic involvement
and “mobility” in the city, an extent he tries to impose on all his family. This is why he
becomes furious when he learns that his son Fahmy is an activist, participating in mass
protests on the streets of Cairo and organizing a Law School student strike. The end
of Bayan al-​Qasrayn brings forward the shocking death of Fahmy during the peaceful
protests celebrating the success of the Revolution and the return of Zaghlul from his
exile. Fahmy’s premature death has shocked SAAG to his core, broken the heart of his
mother, and filled the family with inconsolable grief. Fahmy’s loss signals the collapse of
SAAG’s patriarchal control of the outside and his growing relapse into depression and
self-​imposed confinement to the inside.
And as Amina’s independence and access to the outside continue to grow in the
remaining two parts of the Trilogy, so does the city of Cairo continue to grow and develop
larger and newer landscapes outside the familiar settings of Bayan al-​Qasrayn’s old
Fatimid Cairo, which included al-​Azhar, al-​Darrasa, al-​Nahhasin and al-​Gammaleyya
neighborhoods. For all its thematic density, Bayn al-​Qasrayn is more than a local
narrative of suppressed women and oppressive men. It is the story of a city, a story that
bears the names of local neighborhoods, streets, alleys and landscapes, thus suturing and
inscribing its reader into the thick of its fictional space.

Notes
1 B. Johnson, The Critical Difference: Essays in the Contemporary Rhetoric of Reading
(Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1980), p. 13.
2 M. de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1988), p. xix.
3 Ibid., p. xix.
4 ‘Abd al-​Rahman Munif, Hiwar ma‘a Abdulrhaman Munif Hawl Humum al-​Riwaya wa Humum
al-​Waqi’ al-​‘Arabi. Ed. ‘Abd al-​Latif al-​Hananshi (Beirut: al-​Mustaqbal al-​‘Arabi: Markaz
Dirasaat al-​Wihda al-​‘Arabiyya, 1992), p. 126.
5 Sh. al-​Shaf‘i, al-​Makan al-​ Sha‘bi fi Riwayat Naguib Mahfouz: Bayn al-​ Waqi’ wa al-​ Ibda’
(Cairo: al-​Dar al-​Misriyya wa al-​Lubnanniya, 2006), p. 11. See also Salah Fadl, Suwar al-​Qira’a
wa Ashkal al-​Takhyil (Cairo: Dar al-​Kitaab al-​Misri, 2005), pp. 154–​155.
6 See Mohammad Salama, Islam the Culture of Modern Egypt: From the Monarchy to the Republic
(Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 2018). See also Muhammad Shawkat al-​Tuni, Ahzab wa Zu‘ama’
(Cairo: Matba’a-​t al-​Dar al-​Misriyya, 1980); Tariq al-​Bishri, al-​Haraka al-​Siyassiya fi Misr min
1945–​1952 (Cairo: Dar al-​Shuruq, 1982).
7 All translations from Mahfouz and other Arabic sources are mine. For an English translation
of Thulathiyya-​t Bayn al-​Qasrayn, see The Cairo Trilogy. Trans. William Maynard Hutchens,
Olive E. Kenney, Lorne M. Kenny and Angele Botros Samaan (New York: Everyman’s Library,
2001). In transliterating Arabic names, I retain the original Egyptian pronunciation of “g”
instead “j”, as in “Khadiga” and “Gawwad” instead of “Khadija” and “Jawwad”. For ease of
reading, this chapter does not use diacritics.
8 Naguib Mahfouz, Thulathiyya-​t-​ Bayn al-​Qasrayn (Cairo: Maktaba-​t-​Misr, n.d.), p. 15.
9 Ibid., p. 36
10 Ibid, p. 43.
11 Ibid., p. 17.
12 Ibid.

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Mohammad Salama

13 Ibid., pp. 41–​43.

14 Ibid., pp. 8–​9.
15 Ibid., p. 20.
16 Ibid., pp. 10–​11.
17 Ibid., p. 18.
18 Ibid., p. 29.
19 See Muhammad Gibril, Misr al-​Makan: Dirasa fi al-​Qissa wa al-​Riwaya (Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​
‘amma li-​shu’n al-​matabi‘ al-​amiriyya, 2000), p. 233.
20 Ibid., p. 28. The Qur’anic verse quoted in Mahfouz is Q. 113:5. Emphasis mine.
21 C. Baudelaire, The Painter Of Modern Life And Other Essays (London: Phaidon, 1964).
22 Mahfouz, Thulathiyya-​t-​ Bayn al-​Qasrayn, pp. 54–​58.
23 Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, p. xx.
24 Ibid., p. xix.
25 Darb Qirmiz is a small residential neighborhood established in the10th-​century Fatimid quarter
of Cairo. Kamal might be referring to the winding and narrow street that connects the neigh-
borhood, which consists of three madrasas, a palace, mausoleum, fountain and a bazaar.
26 Ibid., p. xix.
27 Mahfouz, Thulathiyya-​t-​ Bayn al-​Qasrayn, p. 59.
28 Ibid., p. 189.
29 Ibid., p. 189.
30 Ibid., pp. 191–​193.
31 Ibid., p. 194.

All photographs courtesy of Nezar AlSayyad.

References
Primary Sources
Mahfouz, Naguib. Thulathiyya-​t-​ Bayn al-​Qasrayn. Cairo: Maktaba-​t-​Misr, n.d.

Secondary Sources
‘Abdullah, M.H. Al-​Islamiyya wa al-​Ruhiyya fi Adab Naguib Mahfouz. Maktabat Misr, n.d.
al-​Bishri, T. (1982), al-​Haraka al-​Siyassiya fi Misr min 1945-​1952. Cairo: Dar al-​Shuruq.
al-​Ghitani, G. (1980), Naguib Mahfouz Yatadhakkar. Beirut: Dar al-​Masira.
al-​Hakim, T. (1959), Ta’mulat fi al-​Siyasa.Cairo: Kitab Ruz al-​Yusuf.
al-​Naqqash, R. (1968), Udaba’ Mu‘asirun. Cairo: Maktabat al-​Anglo.
al-​Qutt, ‘A. Bina’ al-​Riwaya fi al-​Adab al-​Misri al-​Hadith. Cairo: Dar al-​Ma‘rif, n.d.
al-​Rafi ‘i, ‘A.R. (1987), Thawrat 1919. Cairo: Dar al-​Ma‘rif.
al-​Ra‘i, ‘A. (1979), Dirasat fi al-​Riwaya al-​Misriyya. Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Misriyya al-​‘Amma lil-​Kitab.
al-​Shaf‘i, Sh. (2006), al-​Makan al-​Sha‘bi fi Riwayat Naguib Mahfouz: Bayn al-​Waqi’ wa al-​Ibda’.
Cairo: al-​Dar al-​Misriyya wa al-​Lubnanniya.
al-​Tuni, M. Sh. (1980), Ahzab wa Zu‘ama’. Cairo: Matba’a-​t al-​Dar al-​Misriyya.
‘Awad, L. (1967), Al-​Thawra wa al-​Adab. Cairo: Dar al-​Katib al-​‘Arabi.
Badr, ‘A,T. Tattawur al-​Riyawa al-​Hadith fi Misr. Cairo: Dar al-​Ma‘rif, n.d.
Baudelaire, Ch. (1964), The Painter Of Modern Life And Other Essays. London: Phaidon.
Baudelaire, Charles (1964), The Painter Of Modern Life And Other Essays. London: Phaidon.
Bidir, H. Dirasa fi Ada Naguib Mahfouz. Alexandria: Mansha’t al-​Ma‘rif, n.d.
De Certeau, M. (1988), The Practice of Everyday Life. Trans. Steven Rendall. Berkeley: University
of California Press.
Fadl, S. (2005), Suwar al-​Qira’a wa Ashkal al-​Takhyil. Cairo: Dar al-​Kitaab al-​Misri.
Farag, N. (1986), Naguib Mahfouz: Hayatuhu wa. Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Misriyya al-​‘Amma lil-​Kitab.
Ghoneim, M. (1993), Al-​Riwaya al-​Siyasiyya fi Misr: Dirasa Tatbiqiyya ‘ala Adab Naguib Mahfouz
Cairo: ‘Ayn Shams University: Dissertation.

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Gibril, M. (2000), Misr al-​Makan: Dirasa fi al-​Qissa wa al-​Riwaya . Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​‘amma
li-​shu’n al-​matabi‘ al-​amiriyya.
Haykal, A. (1980), Dirasat Adabiyya. Cairo: Dar al-​Ma‘rif.
Hutchins, W.M., Kenny, O., Kenny, L., and Botros A. (2001), Trans. The Cairo Trilogy.
New York: Everyman’s Library.
Ibrahim, N. (1980), Naqd al-​Riwaya min Wajhat Nazar al-​Dirasat al-​Lughawiyya al-​Haditha.
Beirut: al-​Nadi al-​Adabi.
Johnson, B. (1980), The Critical Difference: Essays in the Contemporary Rhetoric of Reading.
Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press.
Munif, ‘A.R. (1992), Hiwar ma‘a Abdulrhaman Munif Hawl Humum al-​ Riwaya wa Humum
al-​Waqi’ al-​‘Arabi. Ed. ‘Abd al-​Latif al-​Hananshi. Beirut: al-​Mustaqbal al-​‘Arabi: Markaz Dirasat
al-​Wihda al-​‘Arabiyya.
Nuful, Y. (1977), al-​Qissa wa al-​Riwaya bayn Jil Taha Hussein and Jil Naguib Mahfouz. Cairo: Dar
al-​Nahda al-​‘Arabiyya.
Qasim, SizaS. (1984), Bina’ al-​Riwaya. Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Misriyya al-​‘Amma lil-​Kitab.
Salama, M. (2018), Islam the Culture of Modern Egypt: From the Monarchy to the Republic.
Cambridge: Cambridge UP.
Shukri, G.H. (1991), Naguib Mahfouz min al-​Gammaliyya ila Nobel. Beirut: Dar al-​Farabi.
‘Uthman, B. (1986), Bina’ al-​Shakhsiyya al-​Ra’isiyya fi Riwayat Naguib Mahfouz. Beirut: Dar
al-​Hadatha.
Wadi, T. (1986), Dirasat fi Naqd al-​Riwaya. Cairo: al-​Hay’a al-​Misriyya al-​‘Amma lil-​Kitab.

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15
THE JUDGE, THE OFFICER
AND THE DEMIURGE
Figures and Figurations of Old Cairo

Ann Madoeuf

By comparing and contrasting fictional and urban-​development texts, we examine how

the old city of Cairo was depicted and shaped from the end of the 1950s to the beginning
of the 21st century. The story unfolds in three phases, corresponding to the time frames
of each account. The aim is simple: to track the gradual and cumulative creation of a
significant landscape through the description and illustration of its constituent parts and
aspects, both material and conceptual, while at the same time observing changes in the
very concept of the margin. The objective is to identify the phases of this change over a
half-​century and the different ways that this unique space of the old quarters of Cairo
was assigned to the margins in the geography and landscape of the Egyptian capital.
Bringing together these three narratives is based on the premise that fiction can effectively
translate “the experience of an existential dimension of the geographic space”.1
Likewise, in Reflections on Exile, Edward Said, the founder of post-​colonial studies,
identified the role of literature in creating the existential notion of “otherness”, showing
how world literature can be used for analytical purposes and thereby encouraging its use
in the social sciences.2 Based on the assumption that places are fixed in memory through
the way they are depicted, our approach involves examining a series of literary sources
taken from 20th-​century realist Egyptian literature (whose key authors are Youssef Idris
and Gamal al-​Ghitani), in which the authors track the journeys of the protagonists
through the streets of old Cairo, providing the fictional background of the stories. These
fictional accounts are contrasted with that of a major contemporary urban project in the
Egyptian capital. One of our hypotheses is that the UNESCO inscription of Old Cairo
and the award of the Nobel Literature Prize to the Cairene author Naguib Mahfouz
combined to form a sort of dual distinction. Although these two signs of recognition
differ in time and type, they are linked in that they offer compatible enhancing views,
producing the image of a coherent landscape.
Our approach thus involves a linear exploration of Cairo, both temporal and spatial.
The unfolding of time, classically seen chronologically, is punctuated by three successive
episodes: the 1950s, the 1980s and the early 2000s. Likewise, progress through the city,
mechanically rectilinear, follows a route from west to east, from the upmarket neighbor-
hood of Zamalek, via the city center, to the furthermost edges of the old city.

246 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-17

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The Judge, the Officer and the Demiurge

The Judge’s Expedition: the Underlying Pretext

“The Dregs of the City” (“Qaʿa al-​medina”, 1959) is a short story by the Egyptian author
Youssef Idris. It is set in Cairo in the late 1950s and describes how a judge, ʿAbdallah, a
well-​off man who is “moderate” in everything he does, accompanied by a “guide”, goes
from his house in the affluent district of Zamalek to the fringes of the old city to retrieve
a watch stolen by his housemaid, Shohrat. This creates the indispensible pretext (how else
in those days could one imagine a man of the judge’s social standing going to that type of
place?) that Idris uses to construct a motive and depict the unfolding scenes and features
of the city as perceived by the judge. The narrative thus describes a journey through
Cairo, like a free dive into the unknown and stigmatized working-​class districts, literally
the dregs of the city, the explicit title of the story. This journey into unknown territory
is the first example of this type of urban travel writing in Egyptian literature, a sort of
cinematographic ‘tracking shot’ providing a new view of the city, a pretext in the literal
sense. At the end of the colonial period, the geography of Cairo was characterized by the
contrasting models of a “European” city (Khedivial Cairo fashioned in the 19th century)
and a “native” city (the old quarters), relabelled as city center versus old town, the latter
at that time dressed in all the rags of the marginal.
This analytical reading of the city distances itself from any mention of nationalist
identity, and it, instead, reconstitutes the classic binary pattern of modernity versus back-
wardness, of the ever-​present notion of dominant versus dominated, and of center versus
periphery, construed as a push-​pull relationship. While earlier Egyptian literature had
already depicted these dual spaces and addressed this dichotomy, most accounts involved
movement in the opposite direction, in other words from the old city towards the modern
districts. This can be seen for example in influential works such as Taha Hussein’s The
Days, Sayyid ʿUways’s The History that I carry on my back, or Naguib Mahfouz’s famous
fictional trilogy, which all reveal and mirror the geographic mechanics of individual tra-
jectories of social advancement (autobiographical or fictional). By contrast, Youssef
Idris reverses the direction and transforms the condition of the narrator: first, he is from
the upper classes, and secondly, his journey takes him from the richest to the poorest
parts of the city. The pretext of the watch enables the writer to describe a cross-​section
of the city, swinging like a pendulum from the judge’s comfortable and opulent flat in
the smart neighborhood of Zamalek to a hovel in the slummy outskirts of the old town,
interspersed and alternating with geographical sequences and their impact on the judge’s
perceptions and sensations.
The journey from the judge’s flat in Gabalaya Street overlooking the Nile to his
destination –​a sort of no-​man’s land in the fringes of the old city –​involves a gradual and
continuous degradation of the spaces he encounters, broken down into a succession of
strata marked by thresholds and passages. As the story unfolds, the scenes are described
as the judge progresses from one end of the city to the other, following a route based on
a mechanical hierarchy of the urban spaces. It starts on the island of Zamalek, a quiet,
residential, genteel district; after crossing the Nile, which acts as a transition, the second
scene shows the bustling, vibrant city center. At the border, marked by ʿAtaba Square, the
general movement accelerates and becomes more hectic, with buses, trams and carts, and
pedestrians crossing in all directions; passers-​by look and dress differently, some wearing
gallabeyas. From there, the judge and his guide enter another world in al-​Azhar street,
where the tumult reaches its peak.3. Further on, they finally reach “the dregs of the city”,
the domain of destitution, dilapidation and confusion, terminating in an “indefinable”

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Ann Madoeuf

place where “devastation reigns” and everything is confused: crumbling buildings and
piles of rubble, with tombs that can be seen not far away. “Nothing is hidden, everything
is revealed in the cruel light of day”.4
This spatial extremity is inseparable and indistinguishable from social extremity, it’s
the end of the road, and the people live on the bottom rung of the social ladder. This
journey of about 5 kilometres across Cairo involves a clear break in the linearity of the
town, which is described topographically, followed by immersion in the bowels of the
city, depicted impressionistically, and where everything is translated into oppressive
sensations. Smooth, limpid surfaces give way to an intermediate area of turmoil, followed
by the depths that become increasingly opaque and dense. From al-​Azhar mosque, where
they leave their car and continue on foot, the judge and his guide lose their bearings. Up
to that point, there are clear landmarks, the route can be followed on a map, but after
the mosque, there is nothing to show the way and the judge (and the reader) is lost. The
only information about where Shohrat lives is that it is in “a sort of cul-​de-​sac some-
where behind al-​Azhar mosque”, together with an equally vague detail that it is “next to
Roums Street”.5 There is indeed a real Harat al-​Roum in the Bab Zuweila district, and
maybe the house is there, in the eastern part of the old town; and as for the tombs that
are mentioned, they could correspond to the edge of the Qaytbay necropolis. But the
symbolic nature of the dregs of the city implies that the location is essentially blurred and
nameless –​it is an ultimate, liminal place. There is a sharp contrast between the abode
of the master, a flat with a view, and that of his servant, a dark hovel in a cul-​de-​sac,
located at the extreme ends of the transect. Moreover, the references and values of each
are poles apart: amongst other things, the judge owns a superb radio set, while Shohrat,
the servant, possesses practically nothing, apart from a picture of the Imam ʿAli killing
an infidel with his sword.
The dregs that confront judge ʿAbdallah constitute the space of the unknown and
unnamed that does not fit into any reference system. It is by definition the worthless
sediment trapped in a sieve with no way out –​the extreme end of space and society. The
judge’s journey across Cairo takes him from one absolute to another –​nothingness. To
get himself out of this situation, he can only go back; he is overwhelmed by what he sees,
and later it even seems to him that the events weren’t real. “He, a pure Egyptian –​his
father was born in a district of Cairo, his mother in another district of the same town,
he has poor cousins somewhere in the south of the country –​who has travelled a lot and
seen a lot, who has seen for himself the degree to which poverty can reach, there he is, in
the middle of Cairo, in this city that he has not left, and the spectacle that he sees before
him fills him with stupefaction, and gives him the curious sensation of lowering a rope
into a bottomless well.”6
Clearly, the old city is thus a unique space that remains abstract for other Cairenes,
apart from certain places and routes, notably al-​Azhar mosque and the street of the same
name, and consequently it belongs essentially to an imaginary world, a delusional fan-
tasy. Youssef Idris’s narrative takes the reader on a real expedition exploring the city’s
margins. During the rule of Nasser and Arab socialism, the old city of Cairo is suspect
and apparently found guilty and is viewed as an intractable archaic appendix, whose
origin seems grotesque. It is also seen as inchoate, even if it contains certain emblem-
atic places, notably al-​Azhar mosque (“the luminous”), which is undoubtedly a land-
mark, a beacon in the physical landscape, and also a national symbol. It was indeed from
this glorious mosque that Gamal ʿAbdel Nasser delivered his speech of resistance to the
Tripartite Aggression in 1956, reiterating that “We will fight and we will not surrender”.

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The Judge, the Officer and the Demiurge

Moreover, the millennium celebration of the founding of Fatimid Cairo extolled above
all the socialist project, and the advance of Egyptian society towards a new era of devel-
opment, starting with the capital.
This transect, like an annotated cross-​section of Cairo, orchestrates the city’s topog-
raphy centered on the judge’s thoughts, which, although rambling and swinging from
frivolous to serious, always seem to pierce the social reality of the spaces/​scenes he
witnesses. After his initiatory, and traumatic, visit to his housemaid, Judge ʿAbdallah
no longer sees the view of the capital from his balcony in the same way: “a bewitching
show, with a succession of theatrical scenes that Cairo stages every evening”.7 From
then on, he breaks down the elements of this view –​the cityscapes are no longer just
superimposed scenes and vanishing lines, they are placed and positioned in relation to
each other –​they have acquired a meaning. This background, although distant, is indis-
putably part of the city. Even if Judge ʿAbdallah tries to forget this disturbing adven-
ture, even if these no-​go areas soon become blurred in his memory, a new significant
layer has managed to creep into the overall view of the city. This punitive incursion into
the old town of Cairo, this experience of contact with the margin, seems to have sparked
an awareness of space in the intruder’s mind, maybe giving shape or form to a hint of
class consciousness.

The Officer’s Journey: Normalization and Disillusion

Although he makes no allusion to this pioneering narrative, three decades later the writer
Gamal al-​Ghitani in some way reiterates and continues the story, imagining a retired
officer’s unplanned walk through the same streets. However, by the end of the 1980s,
the route taken by the character of Epitre des destinées8 (The Epistle of Insights into
the Destinies), a bitter novel published in 1989, had become commonplace, almost way-​
marked. No longer is there any need to justify the presence of an officer in these districts;
the old city, whose image had been upgraded and improved to make it a heritage site,
seemed to have been freed of the sin of archaism. The amalgam of disparate places had
become a significant spatial object, brought together as an entity under the all-​embracing
label of Historic, Islamic and Fatimid Cairo, and listed as a UNESCO world cultural
heritage site in 1979. An unexpected parallel distinction, the award of the Nobel Prize
for literature to Naguib Mahfouz in 1988, created a dual certification, intensifying the
visibility and enhanced image of the old city, in particular the emblematic Gamaleya
quarter described by Mahfouz and which became synonymous with the old city as a
whole. It was a time of accolades. However, bringing the past and memories to mind –​
and to order –​was the act of outside people who invested and thus appropriated the
old, now emblematic, city. In this area, any contemporary manifestations and signs were
interpreted and perceived as anachronistic and sacrilegious. The atmosphere described
by Gamal al-​Ghitani reveals a phase of incompatibility between the ideals of triumphal
heritageization and the social and economic realities of the area, against a background
of generalized disillusion post-​infitah (President Anwar Sadat’s open-​door economic
policy) and rampant nostalgia. The various moves to bring this space up to standard (in
word and deed) were justified by dissociating the supposed “values” of the old town and
the customs of its inhabitants, now relegated by the media and decision-​makers to the
ranks of the uneducated masses, of defilers whose polluting activities should be moved
elsewhere, of predators or parasites, often threatened with eviction when improvement
projects were discussed.

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Ann Madoeuf

The old city was thus perceived as a potential guarantor of values, with a wealth of his-
toric, monumental and symbolic resources, bringing hope for the future; when the officer
is feeling distressed, that is where he goes, drawn almost mechanically to places where he
hopes to find the very essence of the city, but where he will above all be confronted by
“decay, the only common denominator, decay that seeps from the buildings and worms
its way into you”. It is also there that he will be most shocked not to find reassurance
and hidden meaning, and to discover that the old quarters are in fact so unremarkable.
Moreover, they are vibrant, a hive of activity; they are no longer repellent or rejected as
dregs; the old city has come in line with the spaces making up the megacity. This new quest
is no longer for a stolen object but for an absolute; while the judge managed to retrieve his
stolen watch, the only trophy that the officer brings back is patent, pernicious disillusion.
This interpretation is also the simple observation of an overall pattern change: in the
megacity, the old, historic town is stationary; the margins have been moved elsewhere, to
the new problematic self-​built outskirts of the city. For Gamal al-​Ghitani, the whole of
Cairo externalizes the distress of Egyptian society and the vacuity of its ideals. The old
town is where the protagonist of his story feverishly searches for an idealized past, which,
alas, turns out to be evanescent.
In the early 1960s, the population of the Egyptian capital was close to four million
inhabitants; by the late 1980s, it was ten million, and its surface area had grown exponen-
tially. By a homothetic effect, as Cairo grew, the old town became smaller and closer to the
center, appearing simultaneously less vast and less distant. For the officer, even if ʿAtaba
square (which signalled and marked the junction and limit between the 19th-​century
center and the old town) continued to be a threshold, after which he had “the impression
of moving towards what remained of a bygone era”,9 it no longer separated two clashing
worlds, two universes whose references were poles apart; instead it marked the boundary
between juxtaposed spaces, now complementary and continuous. The officer sees the
town center as “an endlessly overflowing crater”, its streets as “beaten tracks” –​he firmly
prefers the old town. The known perimeters are now vaster, and what were impene-
trable spaces have been revealed, demystified, named –​the monuments are no longer
anonymous architectural artifacts. The officer walks through the Darrassa neighborhood
to the ramparts, he wanders through the alleyways of Gamaleya “without worrying about
finding the way out”,10 and continues as far as the cemeteries. These meanderings are
those of an ordinary citizen, free to roam the town as he will, an anonymous everyman
who nobody pays attention to. Moving around the capital, from one district to another,
even on foot, has become commonplace. The old town is now accessible to all, and is
synonymous with a real shake-​up of how it is perceived, represented and used: it’s a
place for sightseeing –​interesting, attractive and touristic! The officer’s perambulations
and purpose lead him to the old quarters, like a pilgrimage, in search of a significant and
reassuring place, and he finally reaches the holy of holies, inside the venerable Qalawun
mausoleum-​madrasa (in the heart of the Gamaleya district). But there, he sees a couple
of foreigners amorously entwined. Shocked by this sight, he calls the watchman: “Have
you seen what’s going on in the mausoleum?” And the watchman, with as much pertin-
ence as impertinence, simply and brilliantly replies: “And have you seen what’s going on
outside?” This subtle fictional repartee is a violent retort; the officer is indeed profoundly
shocked by his contact with the old town, as was the judge before him, but not for the
same reasons. Amidst widespread indifference, these places, which should be sanctuaries,
have become completely ordinary, and, like the rest of Cairo, blighted by a variety of
vulgar practices.

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The “Vision” of the Aga Khan: the Creation of al-​Azhar Park

If the judge and the officer were to repeat their journey today, respectively six and three
decades after their fictional forays to the extremity of the old town, instead of their
ultimate destination in the depths of the city, forcing them both to turn back, they would
discover a redeveloped area and a new place –​the superb al-​Azhar park, inaugurated in
2005. This project, conceived and commissioned by the Aga Khan, who was subsequently
seen as a “visionary”, assumes the appearance of an act of redemption. It perpetuates,
stabilizes and refashions the divide, embodied in a landscape. From this green vantage
point, seemingly emerging out of nowhere, the old town offers a stunning backdrop, a
historic skyline, from where it can be viewed but held at arm’s length. The creation ex
nihilo of al-​Azhar park, the only large-​scale development operation involving the whole
of the old city of Cairo (albeit outside the actual area), was conceived to offer a bird’s-​
eye view of the architectural and cultural heritage of the city. Bordering the eastern edge
of the old town, the park, constructed and funded by the Aga Khan Trust for Culture,
covers a modest 30-​hectare area, but is nevertheless the largest park in a capital city that
has a wealth of monuments but a paucity of green spaces. Conceived in keeping with
the principle of sustainable development and respect of Islamic tradition, inspired by
Andalusian and Persian gardens, the park refers explicitly back to a golden age when
Cairo was believed to be the center of the universe, and also to the golden geography of
Islam. The project was first mentioned in 1984 at the end of a seminar on the growth of
the Cairo metropolis, also organized by the Aga Khan foundation.
The “visionary” nature of the project was built on the story that while contemplating
the magnificent view of the old town (after the aforementioned seminar), the Aga Khan
was offended by an “anomaly” in the urban landscape (the mountain of garbage in
Darrassa). From the outset, the story highlights the close links between literature and
architecture, between fiction and revelation, between the imaginary and urban devel-
opment. Indeed, the Aga Khan’s view of the town, which became his vision and the
revelation of his mission, was from the balcony of the house of the famous architect
Hassan Fathi, a house that inspired the novel “The House of Certain Death” (La Maison
de la Mort Certaine) by the Egyptian-​born French writer Albert Cossery. Twenty-​one
years later, in his speech at the inauguration of the park, in the notable presence of Mrs
Mubarak, the Aga Khan described the creation as an action in direct line with the foun-
dation of Cairo by his ancestor the Caliph al-​Muʿizz in 969. More than a thousand years
later, the project sought to create a sense of the city’s continuity through time and to per-
petuate the founding Fatimid action, reconstructing a seamless landscape and linking the
origin and the fulfillment of a story in the form of a parable.
Those involved in the project, the politicians, the media, visitors and other
commentators, have all been loud in their praise of the spectacular metamorphosis of
the site, from a repulsive rubbish dump to widely acclaimed “paradise”. This garden
created out of a no man’s land is unique, and also provides an effective link between
different areas of the city. It has definitively improved the image of the old city, which
it has compacted and turned into a landscape. The Azhar park has thus woven its way
into a sort of historico-​spatial vacuum, the uninhabited site of Darrassa, a blurred gap
between the Ayyubid wall and the Mamlouk cemetery. The addition of this urban layer in
the margins of the city establishes a new order and abolishes the previous cul-​de-​sac situ-
ation. The park was created on land at the edge of the city that had no past and nothing
to lose. It is a space that feels timeless; it exalts, orders and enhances the past, but yet it

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Ann Madoeuf

Figure 15.1 Fountain in Al-​Azhar Park.

Courtesy of Nezar AlSayyad.

is indisputably contemporary, notably in the expression of its qualities as an exemplum

of urban planning. Although it intrudes into the city’s geography, it nonetheless manages
to blend into the existing local space, in ways that are both new and mimetic, imposing
itself in the topography of the key features of Cairo, while also figuring prominently in
international online references. For example, al-​Azhar Park is reviewed on TripAdvisor,
and also has a dedicated Wikipedia page, a clear indication of its recognition and status:

Al-​Azhar Park is the most recent park in Cairo. This garden was formerly waste-​
land on which the garbage of the Egyptian capital was dumped. Financed by the
Aga Khan, it opened in March 2005. The park has a profusion of royal palms,
mango trees, acacias and bougainvillea, flower borders and lawns. It is situated
just north of the Citadel.
(Figure 15.1)

Epilogue: Old Cairo, a Panoramic Spectacle

When fiction is realistic and sticks to the codes its genre imposes, it can bring the implaus-
ible to life, while at the same time avoiding the impossible, or at least keeping it at bay. For
example, a judge, lost in a squalid district of Cairo in the 1950s in search of a watch, and
an officer going through an existential crisis wandering through the old quarters of the
same city at the end of the 1980s: the scenarios are equally improbable, bizarre, or even

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incongruous, but not entirely inconceivable. The notion of improbability is important,

as it accentuates the stark and absolute differences between spaces and social status,
between representations and values, by placing side by side mental images of the fine
house and the hovel, of opulence and deprivation, of places on show and slums hidden
away from view.
The dregs of the city of the 1950s no longer exist, in words or in fact; on the contrary,
they have been transformed into a verdant hill, from which one can view the Cairo city-
scape, with the old city spread out in the foreground. The difference between the two
situations is topographic and symbolic. What is significant in the changed perception of
these places is that what was previously hidden from view has now been made visible and
revelatory, albeit in a completely different form. As described in the three foregoing acts
of a play, the representation of old Cairo follows a trajectory, from knowing to acknow-
ledging, from concealing to revealing, or, in situational terms, from “the bottom” (i.e. the
dregs) to “facing/​in front”.
Considered a posteriori as a diachronic series with intelligible links, we examine three
successive episodes and narratives, situated in the same urban environment, each defined
by frame, scale, and social and political context; three points in time, each related to a
period of power, in turn linked to an era, respectively those of Nasser, Sadat and Mubarak.
In the first episode, the old city is a no-​go area viewed with suspicion and ignorance; in
the second scene, its image has been polished and enhanced, but its inhabitants have been
dispossessed; finally, it is set apart and viewed as a domesticated margin, clad in a pano-
ramic cityscape that both embodies and disembodies it. Reading these texts and events
in the context of the city’s successive metamorphoses, and of the connections between
fictional and urban development narratives, highlights the effects of the phenomena that
could be considered to arise from the momentum of the melding of the heritage discourse
with globalization.
In the fictional accounts, through their status, functions and titles, the metaphorical
characters of the judge and the officer embody, successively but jointly, two views of a
single coercive system, two facets of the same system of power and domination, that of
the rule of law and justice. Exogenous to the margin and vectors and bearers of norma-
tive values, the protagonists experienced a shock, both sensorial and intellectual, during
their spatial and social experience of a margin they perceived as subordinate and insub-
ordinate, and from which they eventually managed to escape. Finally, in epilogue, a demi-
urge came along: the creative act to which he resorted was cultivated and given legitimacy
through story-​telling –​a fictional drama was used to neutralize and cast a spell over what
had been marginal, turning it into the silhouette of a reversible landscape between park
and city. The panoramic garden, a natural and cultural object, reveals and materializes an
imaginary spatial ideal, the spectacle of the city, the spectacular city.

Notes
1 H. Desbois, P. Gervais-​Lambony and A. Musset (eds.), 2016, Annales de Géographie, no. 709–​710
(Géographie et fiction: au-​delà du réalisme), p. 202.
2 E. Saïd, 1980 (1978), L’Orientalisme. L’Orient créé par l’Occident, Paris, Seuil, coll. « Points
Essai ».
3 Y. Idris, 1986 (1959), Au fond de la ville, in La Sirène et autres nouvelles, Arles, Sindbad/​Actes Sud,
p. 105.
4 Y. Idris, 1986 (1959), p. 111.
5 Y. Idris, 1986 (1959), p. 102.

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6 Y. Idris, 1986 (1959), p. 106.

7 Y. Idris, 1986 (1959), p. 120.
8 G. Ghitany, 1993 (1989), Épître des destinées, Paris, Seuil.
9 G. Ghitany, 1993 (1989) p. 117.
10 G. Ghitany, 1993 (1989) p. 119.

References
Barthes, R. (1964), Essais critiques, Paris, Seuil, 288 p.
Cossery, A. (1990 [1944]), La Maison de la mort certaine, Paris, Terrain Vague, 192 p.
Debarbieux, B. (1995), « Imagination et imaginaire géographiques », pp. 935–​948, in Bailly, A.,
Ferras, R., and Pumain, D. (eds.), Encyclopédie de géographie, Paris, Economica, 1167 p.
Desbois, H. (2002), « Réflexions à partir de l’expérience du séminaire “Territoires littéraires” », pp.
65–​74, in Bessière, J. (ed.), Savoirs et Littérature, Paris, Presses de la Sorbonne Nouvelle, 260 p.
Desbois, H., Gervais-​Lambony, P., and Musset, A. (2016), Géographie et fiction: au-​delà du
réalisme, Annales de Géographie, no 709-​710, 202 p.
Etiemble, R. (1952), Quelques essais de littérature universelle, Paris, Gallimard, 456 p.
Evin, A. (ed.) (1985), The Expanding Metropolis Coping with the Urban Growth of Cairo, Singapore,
Concept Media/​Aga Khan Award for Architecture, 238 p.
Ghitany, G. (1993 [1989]), Épître des destinées, Paris, Seuil, 300 p.
Heshmat, D. (2004), L’Évolution des représentations de la ville du Caire dans la littérature égyptienne
moderne et contemporaine, Thèse de doctorat en Langues, civilisations et sociétés orientales,
Université de Paris 3.
Hussein, T. (1947 [1929]), Le Livre des jours, Paris, Gallimard, coll. « L’imaginaire », 288 p.
Idris, Y. (1986 [1959]), Au fond de la ville, in La Sirène et autres nouvelles, Arles, Sindbad/​Actes
Sud, 218 p.
Jablonka. I. (2014), L’Histoire est une littérature contemporaine. Manifeste pour les sciences sociales,
Paris, Seuil, 352 p.
Jodidio, P., and Bianca, S. (eds.) (2004), Cairo: Revitalising a Historic Metropolis, Paris, Umberto
Allemandi & Co for the Aga Khan Trust for Culture, 253 p.
Lassave, P. (2002), Sciences sociales et littérature. Concurrence, complémentarité, interférence, Paris,
PUF, coll. « Sociologie d’aujourd’hui », 243 p.
Madoeuf, A., and Cattedra, R. (eds.) (2012), Lire les villes. Panoramas du monde urbain contemporain,
Tours, PUFR, coll. « Villes & Territoires », 230 p.
Mahfouz. N. Impasse des Deux Palais (1985 [1956]); Le Palais du désir (1987 [1957]); Le Jardin du
passé (1989 [1957]), Paris, Lattès, coll. « Lettres arabes », 1350 p.
Makarius, R., and Makarius, L. (1964), Anthologie de la littérature arabe contemporaine. Le roman
et la nouvelle, Paris, Seuil, coll. « Cadre vert », 416 p.
Rosemberg, M. (2012), Le Géographique et le littéraire. Contribution de la littérature aux savoirs sur
la géographie, HDR, Université de Paris 1.
Saïd, E. (1980 [1978]), L’Orientalisme. L’Orient créé par l’Occident, Paris, Seuil, coll. « Points
Essai », 393 p.
—​—​—​. (2008), Réflexions sur l’exil et autres essais, Arles, Actes Sud, coll. « Essais Sciences », 768 p.
Uways, S. (1989 [1985]), L’Histoire que je porte sur mon dos. Mémoires, Le Caire, CEDEJ, 325 p.,
réédité en 2007 par les Parenthèses et la Maison méditerranéenne des sciences de l’homme, coll.
« Parcours méditerranéens », 380 p.

Acknowledgement
Elizabeth Yates kindly translated this chapter from French to English and I acknowledge her
assistance.

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16
CAIRO ON FILM
The Modernity of a Cinematic City

Nezar AlSayyad

Visitors to Cairo and even some of its residents are often fascinated by the city, its buildings
and urban life. Many, however, are unaware of how representations and imaginaries of
the city as it appears in Egyptian films have shaped their perception of Cairo. The images
and sounds of Cairo found in movies are perhaps the only experience that many have had
or will ever have of this major metropolis with different layers.
Cairo is cinema, one may argue, since its history on film began with the inception of
the film industry itself. The link between the “real” Cairo and “reel” Cairo is indirect
and complex to an extent that a true understanding of the city cannot be achieved inde-
pendent of its cinematic representation. Indeed, Egyptian films have been a good medium
that documented, represented and reflected human interaction in Cairo in a manner that
few other media were able to capture. This is not surprising as the Egyptian film industry
is one of the oldest film industries in the world and it remains vibrant to this day. The
films it produced in different time periods have not only been forms of entertainment, but
they have also been devices, employed by the state and the private sector, to create and
articulate a specific image of Egypt and of Cairo in particular.
In my book Cinematic Urbanism on the relationship between cinema and the city,
I developed the idea that “reel” spaces, because of the power of the cinematic experience,
cease to be simply representational spaces as they turn into generative devices that sustain
the “real” city and motor the imagination for alternative possibilities for its growth and
critique.1 Hence it is my conviction that the division of spaces into “real” and “reel” is not
very useful as the two are mutually constitutive. Hence, the city should not be considered
only as that which appears on the screen, but it should also be the mental city made by
the cinematic medium and subsequently experienced in the real spaces of the physical
city. And in the current era of globalization with the ever-​expanding communication and
representation technologies, an understanding of the city and urban experience can no
longer be pursued independent of the impact of virtual and social media, and, particu-
larly, cinema if the focus is specifically on the 20th century.2
The connection between the study of the city, cinema and modernity is now more than
a century old. Volumes have been produced that analyze these relationships in different
periods of the modern era. Urban modernity has been an ever-​changing experience of
encounter between people of different classes, different subcultures, different religions

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-18 255

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Nezar AlSayyad

and different forms of education and knowledge in the spaces of the city. The form of the
city became a fundamental part of the project of modernity in the 20th century. Indeed,
Cairene modernity played out in the city in its physical spaces and virtual simulacra.
Cinema, as a medium and a profession, appeared during a time of major change in
the world and in Egypt. Its ability to capture images, process them and then project them
to a general public contributed equally to the making of Cairo’s modern image. In this
chapter, cinematic space is employed as an analytical tool. Hence, this is not an attempt
to theorize Egyptian films as artifacts of material culture, nor is it an analysis of the real
physical fabric of Cairo as a city. Instead, the films discussed are the raw material that
allows us to chart an urban history of modernity in Cairo over a period of a full century.
Egyptian cinema followed the city, and vice versa, synchronizing its narrative with
representational techniques and capturing the spirit of the times. It is this parallel and
convergent relationship between the spaces of Cairo on screen and their counterparts in
real life that allow us to construct an urban history of Cairene modernity in a manner
that erodes the boundaries between the real and the reel. Of course, the main limitation
to this approach is that the portrayal of space in films is always partial and selective,
resulting from different receptions by audiences of different cultures, classes and genders.

From Colonialism to the Republic: Representations of Modern Cairo

The first Egyptian film made by an Egyptian was a documentary produced in 1907
which captured the visit of Khedive ‘Abbas Helmy, the ruler of Egypt, to Alexandria.
This was followed by two short films by the pioneering director Mohamad Karim.
It was not until 1927 that Laila, the first silent long film, was produced and this was
followed, in 1932, by Awlad al-​Zawat, the first feature-​length movie with synchronized
sound and dialogue.3 But it was not until the 1930s that movies were set in Cairo and
physically filmed in the city’s spaces and neighborhoods. Two films from this early
period stand out, al-​Warda al-​Baydả (The White Rose) (1933) and Yacout (1934). Both
films deal with middle-​class men who find themselves in relationships with women from
the upper classes and are forced to adjust to their new status as they join the new
bourgeois class. The films show the emerging contrast between the modernity of the
new western part of the city and its more traditional eastern quarters. In al-​Warda al-​
Baydả we see how the old quarters have narrow streets and small apartments while the
villas of the new western part have spacious rooms, gardens with sculptures, murals,
and spaces for music and entertainment. Yacout was mainly filmed in studio; however,
the scenes that supposedly represent Cairo focus on the old quarters where the pro-
tagonist lives. The ground-​level spaces are shown as narrow and compact, yet accom-
modating street vendors and much of the urban socialization activities. The director
was attempting a critique of modernity while celebrating the persistence and, possibly,
the triumph of tradition over it. The two films provide some clues to how modernity
transformed the personality and social standing of the middle class and expose the
conflict between those who aspire to modernize and those who reject it. We learn that
becoming a modern bourgeois offered salvation for some and afforded middle-​class
men opportunities for upward social mobility in the city, although this was usually
achieved through partnership with upper-​class elites.4
We then move to the period between 1919 and the late 1940s seeking to capture the
tradition-​modernity dialectic in Cairo as seen through the lens of films based on Naguib
Mahfouz’s Cairo Trilogy: Bayn al-​Qasrayn (1964), Qasr al-​Shouq (1967) and al-​Sukareya

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Cairo on Film: The Modernity of a Cinematic City

(1969) (all published in English, under the titles Palace Walk, Place of Passion, Sugar
Street, respectively). This allows us to map the transformation of Cairo over the course
of the twentieth century as it appears in some important Egyptian films based on novels
by this Nobel Laureate.
The films capture an Egypt struggling with colonialism and in pursuit of independ-
ence at a time of global transition to modernity, with Cairo being at the center of these
efforts. Mahfouz set most actions of this period in the old quarter of the city, allowing us
to see how that historic district served as a microcosm for the whole city. The films afford
us a heightened view of the Cairene practices of daily and family life in urban space,
and show how modernization and urbanization of Cairo allowed more freedom for a
younger generation, particularly for women. And because some parts of the films were
shot in studio sets built for that purpose, the films as a whole provide us with a historic
document not only of the physical city itself but also of the cinematic city envisioned by
filmmakers.5
Two other films based on Mahfouz’s novels give us a depiction of Cairo during the
era of the monarchy, a time which also corresponds to the Trilogy. Al-​Qahira 30 (1966),
whose original title as a novel was al-​Qahirah al-​Gadidah, shows not only a modernizing
city in the 1930s inhabited and governed by clerks and ruled by wealthy pashas, but also
a corrupt city constituted of individuals who want to climb the social ladder regardless
of the price (Figure 16.1). Zuqaq al-​Midaq (Midaq Alley) (1963), by contrast, portrays a
lower-​class urban neighborhood in British-​colonized Cairo of the 1940s where we come

Figure 16.1 A scene from Al-​Qahira 30 showing the billboards advertising luxury items while the
film protagonist walks by.

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Nezar AlSayyad

to see the demise of traditions, as in the storyteller in the café who was quickly shunned
with the introduction of the radio, and where Cairo’s lower-​class residents, like the film’s
protagonist, feel they must abandon many traditional practices in order to survive under
the norms of capitalist colonial rule. The films capture the effect of the displacements
that modernity has brought to urban life in Cairo.
Class and Social Relations in Cairo of the 1940s–​1950s are in full display in two films,
Lao Kont Ghani (If I were Rich) (1942) and al-​Qalb loh Ahkām (The Heart has Rules)
(1956). They show the rapid transformation of Cairene society to modernity at that time
and the impacts of socio-​political change. The films show how the 1952 army-​led revolu-
tion precipitated a confrontation between Egypt’s socio-​economic classes and displaced
a calmer community lifestyle more comfortable with tradition and social hierarchy. Yet,
social solidarity among the urban poor is also a critical aspect of both films. Galal Amin
suggests that throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s, Egyptian films were obsessed
with the problem of social duality and the extreme contrast between wealth and poverty
and this is clear in the above two films.6 The portrayal of the city between 1942 and 1956
demonstrates how the 1952 revolutionary movement brought new encounters between
these classes and created a modernity of aspiration for the masses. But this modernity
of aspiration was full of contradictions as the films conclude with the main protagonists
partially submitting to prescribed traditional roles and lifestyles7 (Figures 16.2 and 16.3)
The place of religion in the city has also been the subject of many films from the
earliest times of Egyptian cinema. In the popular film Al-​Sheikh Hasan (1954) the main
protagonist is a religious figure torn between his duties and the pleasure that the city has
to offer. It presents to us the traditional view of the role of the religious preacher in the
life of the community at the time of Cairo’s exposure to modernity where the mosque
is still the space of redemption. The changing role of the Sheikh as a trope allows us to

Figure 16.2 The Hara or the traditional Quarter as shown in al-​Qalb Loh Ahkam.

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Cairo on Film: The Modernity of a Cinematic City

Figure 16.3 The wealthy districts of Cairo as shown in al-​Qalb Loh Ahkam.

closely view the changing status of Islam within Cairene society over time, as we shall
see later. Religious tolerance is also a topic taken on by the films portraying Cairo in
the early 1950s because the city had provided a home for Muslim, Christian and Jewish
communities for centuries. This is well portrayed in a film like Hasan wa Morqos wa
Cohain(Hassan, Morqos and Cohen) (1954), which shows three partners from different
denominations who together own a store in a traditional old quarter, the Hara. And while
the film stereotypes all characters as representatives of their religions, it still shows a very
peaceful coexistence and collaboration, particularly at the level of the neighborhood.
However, the establishment of Israel and the rise of pan-​Arab nationalism following the
1952 military coup resulted in the emigration and expulsion of the city’s Jewish commu-
nity in the 1950s. The film forecasts the importance of the theme of coexistence of reli-
gious groups in Cairene society as it emerges in later Egyptian films.
The issue of gender and the changing role of women in modern Cairo of the 1950s
is also evident through the lens of several mid-​20th-​century Egyptian films. Women of
the upper and middle classes, as well as the urban poor, were starting to break social
taboos, access higher education, work outside the home, raise their incomes and have
a major presence in the city. The connections between personal experience and larger
urban and political structures started to appear in films like ̉Ana Horra (I Am Free)
(1959). In that film the protagonist is a rebellious young woman who is unwilling to
accept the limitations placed on her gender in terms of work and social life as she insists
on her “right to the city”. She initially resists the attempts of her family to get her married
off, and she insists on finishing her education and getting a job to become independent,
but she ends up giving in to societal pressures and concludes that the only way she can
maintain her freedom is to engage in the Resistance Movement against the colonizers.
The Egyptian film scholar Viola Shafīk has coined the concept of “Misery Feminism” as
a recurring theme in Egyptian Cinema.8 One may argue that, in this case, the struggling
woman protagonist in this film becomes a victim of her own position. In ̉Ana Horra,
the protagonist becomes an ally of the revolutionaries, and she hides one of them in her
house, for which the police later arrest her. However, the director changed the “miserable”

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Nezar AlSayyad

ending of the original novel on which the film is based, as we see her leaving her job and
submitting to her revolutionary boyfriend’s agenda. This ushers an ending where the
couple get married as they go to jail, supposedly to continue their fight for the revolution
Merāty Modīr ʿĀm (My wife –​the General Manager) (1966) is another film that deals
with the same phenomenon of women entering the workforce particularly after the 1952
revolutionary events. The protagonist is a middle-​aged woman who advances in her com-
pany to become the boss of her husband, who works in the same company as an engineer.
This causes many pressures on both of them at work, at home and even in public space.
The film shows her as bossy and decisive at work but docile and obedient at home to sat-
isfy her disgruntled husband. The role of women as portrayed during the period of these
two films shows Egyptian women entering the public sphere, but in the end succumbing
to more stereotypical roles and still accepting certain social restrictions on their behavior
and movement in the public realm as they celebrate the few new freedoms that they
recently earned.9
All projects of modernity of the 1960s came to an abrupt end in Egypt following the
defeat of the 1967 Six-​day war and the loss of Sinai. The following period is characterized
by the emergence of ultra-​realist films usually set in Cairo as a new genre that seems to
be appropriate for its time. An important film that comes to us from the early 1970s and
captures the late 1960s and early 1970s is Tharthara Fawq al-​Nīl (1971). It is another of
Mahfouz’s important novels –​which was translated into English under the title Adrift on
the Nile. It was made into a film at a critical time in the history of the modern Egyptian
State and it captures the mood and physical state of the Cairo of then. It documents
the feelings and interactions between a group of individuals from different classes and
different neighborhoods who meet regularly in a boathouse to entertain themselves.
The film depicts Cairo as a dejected, dug-​up city with a collapsing infrastructure, and it
highlights a moment of mental breakdown where the characters escape the sad reality of
the city into a state of drugged suspension (Figure 16.4)

A Changing Cinematic Cairo at the End of the 20th Century

The period of the 1980s and following the Peace Treaty with Israel and the assassin-
ation of President Anwar Sadat had a major impact on Cairo and its representation in
many visual and textual media. It was a period very rich with urban films that provide a
reality dose of an urban critique of the city. Egypt embraced neoliberal polices during
Sadat’s rule, a departure from his predecessor’s socialist policies. The consequences of
this economic shift led to some major changes in society in general and more specifically
in cities. Al-​Hob Foq Hadabat al-​Haram (Love over the Pyramids’ Plateau) (1986) and
Karakoun Fi al-​Shariʿ (Jail in the Street) (1986) are two films produced in the late 1980s
that examine the effect of social and economic upheaval as a result of migration to Cairo
from the countryside at that time period. A new social structure and a class of nouveau
riche emerged following the economic restructuring of the Open Door policies of the
late 1970s. Poor living conditions forced both the educated professionals and the skilled
laborers to seek better life in the prospering Gulf States, resulting in a significant demo-
graphic shift, and a major housing crisis particularly for the middle class.
The two films showcase the struggle for housing and the lack of response from the
weak State. In both films, the main characters fail to find an appropriate place to live in
the city. Both films illustrate traits like selfishness, individuality and fahlawa, a form of
abusive urban cleverness, as necessary skills to survive in Cairo. The protagonists in both

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Figure 16.4 The protagonist walks dismayed and disengaged in the dug-​up streets of Cairo in
Adrift on the Nile.

films insist on avoiding such traits, which arguably hinders their ability to adapt and live
well in the city. In the first film, the protagonist could not deal with the logic of Cairo,
preferring to spend time in jail rather than live outside. In the second, Cairo pushes the
protagonist outside the city, where he has to reconsider how to live in the desert.10
Cairo’s Bureaucratic Modernity is also another major theme of the late 1980s as
evidenced by two films from the realist genre: Kharaga walam Yaʿod (He left and Did
not Return) (1984) and Hona Al-​Qahira (Here is Cairo) (1985). Like the two earlier films
from the same time period, these two films show how living in the big city had become too
difficult, stressful and intolerable. The daily life of Cairene residents is shown devoid of
any urban comforts or pleasures under conditions of neoliberalism. It is a modernity of
bureaucracy that drives Cairenes towards mental breakdown. The films show that escape
to the countryside and even outside of the country altogether became the only viable
option to deal with the ever-​changing oppressive economic and social conditions of the
city. Indeed one can say that the films were prophetic in predicting the total collapse of
the city that occurred in Cairo more than two decades later.11
Two other films that allow us to observe the development of Cairo from the early 1980s
to the mid 1990s are Sawwā’ al-​’Utubīs (The Bus Driver) (1982) and ʿAfarīt al-​Asphalt
(The Devils of the Asphalt) (1996). The first film, from the 1980s, is about a driver of a
public bus in Cairo as he goes about his daily routes. The second film is about the drivers
of the informal minibuses that had become the main transport system in Cairo by the
1990s following the collapse of the crowded government-​subsidized public bus system.
The films show the change in the public sphere, in the streets, as well as the behavior of

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Figure 16.5 The drivers of the microbuses at the stop in ‘Afarīt al-​Asphalt.

the citizens of different social classes. Unlike the driver of the public bus who used to
work in the 1980s as a government employee, the minibus drivers are more marginalized
individuals who live in poor informal areas and whose position in the hierarchy of the
social classes had been downgraded by then (Figure 16.5).
The films attempted to capture the struggle between traditional ethics and conduct
and new forms of behavior emerging as a result of the neoliberal economic policies. But
by the 90s, the outcome seems to have been an escapism from an unbearable urban pre-
sent to an introverted surrealist imaginary world. In comparing the two films, particularly
in reference to representation of the city, it becomes clear that Sawwā’ al-​’Utubīs is a solid
modern film about Cairo as a modern city with all of the encounters and conflicts that
occur in urban modernity, while ʻAfarīt al-​Asphalt, in contrast, is a cinematic narrative
that uses postmodern film techniques to illustrate the postmodern condition of Cairo
as an increasingly fragmented neoliberal city. It is as if the modern situation of the city
required a modern storytelling form making the real and the reel identical, while its post-
modern condition necessitated a congruent postmodern method and narrative.
It is important to note that the protagonist in the first film bursts out in the middle of
Tahrir Square to beat a pickpocket who has jumped out of his bus. Here, we can see the
events of January 25th, 2011 as echoing the same moment three decades later. But the
30 years of Mubarak’s rule are best represented by the self-​centered, yet docile, drivers
of the minibuses that have emerged during the neoliberal era, an attitude that may have
resulted in the ultimate failure of the Egyptian uprisings. Indeed, the two protagonists
become tropes of a changing urban modernity as travelers along the road of Cinematic
Cairo.12

Neoliberal Cairo in 21st-​Century Films

The novel ʿImārat Yaʿqoubian is considered one of the most important works of realist
fiction written at the beginning of the 21st century. Published in 2005, it was made into a
film immediately afterwards. The film exposes the thriving social mobility and economic

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development of Egypt at that time and reveals the origins of the widening gap between
the social classes in modern Cairo. Cinematically ʿImārat Yaʿqoubian (2006) dealt with
the urban spaces of the city that represented many of the traditional values of Egyptian
society and the transformations of Cairo over the second half of the twentieth century.
The films of the 1930s to the 1960s had always shown the Hārā, the traditional quarter,
as the main residential unit of Cairo, but by the end of the 20th century it became clear
that the ‘Imāra –​a four-​to ten-​storey apartment building –​had emerged as the new
housing type in Cairo. The Hārā displayed some of the same aspects and values of
small towns and villages in Egypt. But urban middle-​class aspirations for upward social
mobility coupled with rapid urbanization and the scarcity of urban land made the ʿImārā
the preferred housing type even for the urban poor.
The film ʿImārat Yaʿqoubian illustrates the life of such a building in a manner that
allows us to observe the change in the cultural values of the city over time. The apartment
building is located in what was many decades ago a posh neighborhood in Cairo but
that has become its worn-​out downtown. The elegant early modernist architecture of
the building had deteriorated because of lack of maintenance, in a collapsing formal
economy in an increasingly fragmented neoliberal city. As such, the building becomes
a microcosm of the whole city with the appearance of the informal and illegal activity
on its rooftop within the older formal modern structure. The older wealthy residents
occupy spacious apartments, while those who serve them as well as others who have
managed to rent spaces on the roof of the building live a totally different life, occupying
the small storage and former servants’ quarters in what resembles a squatter community.
This new form of habitation above with different values is a challenge to the existing
formal order below it. The building stands as a metaphor for the city as a whole, and, as
such, the structure which was only half a century earlier the zenith of Cairo’s modernity
is presented as crumbling, struggling to survive in this new era of fundamental demo-
graphic and socio-​economic transformations.
The film gives us a glimpse of this transformation from the Hārā to the ʿImārā and
it shows the emergence of a host of new social behaviors resulting from the modern
encounters between the old former wealthy residents of the building, the new urban poor
who occupy its roof, and the other people in the neighborhood. The Cairo of ʿImārat
Yaʿqoubian indeed exhibits all the characteristics of the late urban modernity in the con-
text of a developing society.13
Women in the workplace were also becoming an important topic of films in the 1960s
and the topic was again revisited but with a different emphasis at the beginning of the
21st century. Women in Cairo have always faced challenges but, by the mid-​20th century,
women were starting to break social taboos, access higher education and become income
earners. More than half a century later, women were still struggling in the streets, the
workplaces and the transportations of modern Cairo as these films demonstrate. To deal
with the changing role of women in Cairo of the early 21st century, we can look at two
films, Khaltet Fawzeya (2009) and 678 (2010).
Khaltet Fawzeya depicts the life of a poor woman who lives in an informal settlement
and who makes and sells jam with a secret successful recipe. From the opening scene we
learn that she has been married several times and has four needy kids from all of her
ex-​husbands. The film shows that Fawzeya’s real recipe is a combination of tenderness,
compassion and laughter that helps her defeat the sorrow and grief imposed upon her
and her family by poverty. It ends with all her ex-​husbands collaborating to build her the
bathroom she always wanted. The film depicts poor Cairene women as able to overcome

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misery through forms of solidarity that are facilitated by the built environments that they
have created and inhabited.
The oddly named 678 (2010) is another important film produced a year later. The film
acquired its name from the public bus route that traverses the city and carries the same
number. It shows the rise of urban harassment as the new phenomenon extended from
verbal to physical abuse, in the streets and public spaces of the city. Although, by then,
women largely occupied the workplace and provided financial support for their families,
some Egyptian women were still having a hard time going to work, not because of societal
pressure but due to the modern phenomenon of street harassment. The film showcases
three women from three different societal sectors and their exposure to different kinds
of harassment in the city. The three central characters are an upper-​class professional, a
middle-​class aspiring stand-​up comedian and a working-​class woman from a poor neigh-
borhood. The wealthy woman gets violently harassed by a group of men in a crowded
event in the Cairo stadium. Although she is the victim, her husband is unable to live
with the stigma of what happened to her and they ultimately get divorced. Despite her
trauma, she starts a non-​governmental organization to raise awareness among women
and to teach them how to defend themselves. Meanwhile, the middle-​class comedian
is the subject of another violent harassment when she gets horrifyingly dragged along
the street by an unknown male motorist. She chases after him and with the help of a
few bystanders she hands him over to the police and later decides to file the nation’s
first sexual harassment lawsuit. The lawsuit ultimately gets her nowhere and, instead, it
backfires as it gives her an unpleasant notoriety in the city and among her fiancé’s family.
The third protagonist is a lower-​class mother-​of-​two, who is harassed daily on the public
bus and decides, after advice from the wealthy woman, to retaliate using the pin of her
veil to stab her harassers in their private parts during the bus ride. A sympathetic police
detective investigating the stabbings eventually gets involved, bringing all three women in
for questioning but eventually settingthem free (Figure 16.6). The film portrays the peak
of violence against women in Cairo, where it has escalated to reach an extreme form of
physical harm. Most of the scenes in the film are shot in different Cairene districts in real
urban settings like the streets, public transportation, public squares and police stations.
The film reveals that modern Cairo of the early 21st century has become a cruel platform
that exposes women of all classes to dangerous encounters.14
With regard to the state of religion in the city via the cinematic medium in the 21st
century, we can resort to two films that possess similar names and content to two earlier
films of the mid-​20th century which we discussed earlier. These are Hasan wa Morqos
(2008), which mimics Hasan wa Morqos wa Cohen (1954), and Mawlāna (2016), which is
the modern version of Al-​Sheikh Hasan (1952).
Throughout its long history, Cairo housed Muslims, Christians and Jews, as mentioned
earlier. The title of the 2008 Hasan wa Morqos reminds us of the disappearance of the
Egyptian Jewry and points out the further marginalization of Egyptian Christians due to
the growing sectarian division in Egyptian society also evident in Cairo. The film depicts
Cairene society’s shift toward exclusionary attitudes propelled by the rise of fundamen-
talism and the growing power of Islamists in the media. In response, a segment of the
population succumbed to intolerance and segregation, and a few even to violence or
terrorism.
By the end of the 20th century, the tolerant and cosmopolitan Cairo of 1954 was
a thing of the past. So, while the 1954 film showed the Jew, the Christian and the
Muslim as partners who run a shop together and function well in the urban space of the

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Figure 16.6 The protagonist encountering daily harassment in the public buses in the film 678.

neighborhood, the 2008 film not only shows the impossibility of such a partnership but
it also shows the difficulty of co-​existence and the insistence of communities in Cairo’s
neighborhoods on exclusion and segregation as the only means of existence in the city.
This is a phenomenon that some have characterized as principally anti-​modern, except
for the fact that fundamentalism itself is a modern phenomenon that emerged in response
to attempts by the modern state to curtail the role of religion in the public sphere and
particularly in the political arena.15
Of course, the conflict between the secularists and the Islamists goes back to the
early part of the 20th century but it came to a head-​on collision when the revolutionary
movement of 1952 adopted a socialist stance limiting the role of religion in state affairs.
The film Mawlāna depicts the dilemmas of modernity in contemporary Cairo and the
struggle between different competing realties in the city. The protagonists of the 1952
and 2016 films are sheikhs, or Muslim clerics, a character which allows us to closely view
the changing status of Islam within urban society in cinematic Cairo through their eyes.
The earlier film Al-​Sheikh Hasan presents to us the traditional view of the role of the
religious preacher in the life of the community at the time of Cairo’s exposure to mod-
ernity where the mosque is the space of redemption. Cairo is a thoroughly modern city
and religion plays an important role in the private lives of its citizens and in their attitudes,
but it does not always dictate their behavior in public spaces. Thus, the film shows that
the city has been in a state of unrest in the struggle between Islamists and secularists to
redefine the position of Islam in modern Cairo. This struggle is portrayed in the opening
scene of Mawlāna, in which an aerial view of the historic core of Cairo is depicted. The

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skyline of the city shows traditional minarets and modern satellite dishes, a skyline that
perfectly manifests the struggle that the city has been witnessing between the tradition-
alist Islamists and the modernist secularists. The conflict between the secularists and the
Islamists passed through different stages with an initial retreat and later expansion and
transformation of the role of Islam in the life of the Cairenes. In both films, the sheikhs
confront the boundaries modernity placed on the role of religion in society and in both
cases they long for a time when the city is governed by Islamic doctrines. But, in reality,
their assumed past is only a nostalgia for an imaginary history that never materialized.16
Finally, addressing the gender issues in this second decade of the 21st century remains
an important aspect of understanding Cairo’s late modernity through cinema. Two films,
Nawwara (2015) and Youm Lel Settāt (2016), stand out as they reflect on the reality of
working women in the popular urban quarters of the city. These two films demonstrate
the traits that women in poor urban areas possess, namely those of wittiness, hospitality
and solidarity, that allow them to care for one another in their community and maintain
their urban space. With little or no formal education, they run small businesses that con-
tribute substantially to the micro economy of their neighborhoods.
In the films Nawwara (2015) and Youm Lel Settāt (2016) the position of women in
the lower sectors of society and their role as the cornerstones supporting their families
financially and emotionally are clearly emphasized. Not only are these women able to
take over streets and spaces as extensions of their own modest dwellings through opening
windows and balconies as the films show and as happens in real life, but they are also able
to dominate the markets and shops and transform deteriorated urban pockets into their
working, meeting and leisure places.
But aside from these two films, the role of women as it is portrayed in most Egyptian
films over the past two decades may give the impression that women have achieved greater
freedoms as the city has become more open and more modern. The reality is that they
still bear a lot of burdens and responsibilities towards their families and communities.
The protagonist in the second film is portrayed as a hardworking, gullible woman who
lives in one of the poor slums of Cairo. The film builds a striking contrast between her
place in the worn-​out slums with poor amenities, and her posh workplace in a fancy
high-​end residential gated community in New Cairo. One scene focuses on her washing
up in the contaminated water at her home and then, a while later, on the spacious pool of
her workplace which is owned by the wealthy family for whom she works17 (Figure 16.7).

Concluding Note
The contentment among the urban poor of Cairo, particularly the women, may be a product
of a difficult struggle to find happiness in unlikely spaces and in unusual circumstances.
In these films, we find that the segregated, the excluded and the marginalized have to
confront challenges for basic survival. But they hold on with the support of others in the
community. The women, particularly, seek one another’s help to feel protected enough
communally to survive their conditions. In retrospect, these selected films demonstrate
the urban and socio-​cultural changes along the new parts of the city’s journey from the
planned garden to it becoming the congested metropolis.
The reality of Cairo comes hand in hand with the realization that living in the city is
becoming exhausting and depressing for many, with few pleasures even for some of its
wealthy residents who want to experience its urban spaces. If modernity is mainly about
encounter, then this modernity of Cinematic Cairo as experienced through the daily life

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Figure 16.7 The poor maid heading to the rich gated compound where she works in Nawwara.

of the Cairenes is not a rewarding experience. In fact, it appears to be a warped modernity

that achieves the opposite of its original intent and results only in three outcomes: never-​
ending daily struggle to survive, a complete mental breakdown, or a total physical or
mental escape from the city to another realm.
The acknowledgement that modernity has had some negative consequences on some
societies is not a new concept. The evolution of modernity in Cairo has created new
patterns of urban life and new modes of experience, but these patterns and modes have
also been a double-​edged sword particularly because they have emboldened other forms
of hegemony in the arenas of gender and religion. So, while modernity has helped women
on their path to freedom, it has brought with it new and undesirable modern phenomena
such as street harassment.
Cinematic Cairo has, over a whole century, documented, mimicked, informed and
shaped people’s perception of the real city. What remains to be seen is whether cinematic
Cairo on the reel will take over the real physical city subjugating many of its attributes to
its virtual clones.

Notes
1 N. AlSayyad (2006) Cinematic Urbanism: A History of the Modern from Reel to Real.
London: Routledge.
2 N. AlSayyad and M. Guvenc (2014) “Virtual Uprisings: On the Interaction of New Social Media,
Traditional Media Coverage and Urban Space during the ‘Arab Spring’ ”, Urban Studies 51: 3.
3 V. Shafik (2007) Popular Egyptian Cinema: Gender, Class, and Nation. Cairo and New York: The
American University in Cairo Press.
4 For more on this refer to Saad, A., “Bourgeois Cairo, 1930: Cinematic Representations of Place in
the Middle-​Class City” in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), Cinematic Cairo: On Egyptian
Modernity for Reel to Real, New York and Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 2022.

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5 For more on this refer to N.AlSayyad and M. Salama, “Naguib Mahfouz’s Cinematic
Cairo: Depictions of Urban Transformation in Twentieth Century Egypt”, in N. AlSayyad and
H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
6 G. Amin (2001) Whatever Happened to the Egyptians? Cairo: The American University in
Cairo Press.
7 For more on this refer to N. AlSayyad and D. Alamir, “Bridge as Border and Connector: Class
and Social Relations in Cinematic Cairo, 1940–​1950”, in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen
(eds.), op. cit.
8 V. Shafik (2007).
9 For more on this refer to N. Adel, “Gendered Modernity: The Changing Role of Women in
Modern Cinematic Cairo”, in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
10 For more on this refer to A. AbdelAzim, “Hostile Modernity: Cairointhe1980s and the Middle-​
Class Housing Crisis” in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
11 For more on this refer to T. Khairy, “Escaping Cairo: Bureaucratic Modernity in the Cinematic
Portrayal of the City”, in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
12 For more on this refer to M. Marei, “Cairo Beyond the Windshield: from modernity of realism
to surrealistic postmodernity, 1980s-​1990s” in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
13 For more on this refer to M. Aziz, “From Hārā to ʿto: Social Transformations in Cinematic
Cairo” in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
14 For more on this refer to N. Adel, “Gendered Modernity: The Changing Role of Women in
Modern Cinematic Cairo”, in N. AlSayyad and H. Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
15 N. AlSayyad, ed. (2012) The Fundamentalist City? London: Routledge.
16 For more on this refer to H. Hassanien, “Religious Tolerance in the Cairo of the Movies”; and
M. Feteha, “The City of a Thousand Minarets and a Million Satellite Dishes: The Dilemma of
Islam and Modernity in Cinematic Cairo” in N. AlSayyad and H Safey Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.
17 For more on this refer to H. Safey Eldeen and S. Soliman, “Women’s Right To The City: Cinematic
Representation Of Cairene Urban Poverty” in N. AlSayyad and H. Saefy Eldeen (eds.), op. cit.

All images courtesy of AlSayyad, Cinematic Cairo, AUC Press, Cairo, 2022.

References
AlSayyad, N., and Safy Eldeen, H. (2022), Cinematic Cairo: On Egyptian Modernity for Reel to
Real. New York & Cairo: American University in Cairo Press.
AlSayyad, N., ed. (2012), The Fundamentalist City? London: Routledge.
—​—​—​. (2011), Cairo: Histories of a City. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
—​—​—​. (2006), Cinematic Urbanism: A History of the Modern from Reel to Real. London: Routledge.
—​—​—​, ed. (2004), The End of Tradition? London: Routledge
AlSayyad, N., and Guvenc, M. (2014), “Virtual Uprisings: On the Interaction of New Social Media,
Traditional Media Coverage and Urban Space during the ‘Arab Spring’.” Urban Studies 51: 3.
Amin, G. (2001), Whatever Happened to the Egyptians? Cairo: The American University in Cairo
Press, 2001.
Baudrillard, J. (1997), “Aesthetic Illusion and Virtual Reality.” In Nicholas Zurburgg, ed., Art and
Artifact. London: Sage Publications, pp. 19–​27.
Berman, M. (1982), All That Is Solid Melts into Air. London: Penguin Books.
Clarke, D., ed. (1997), The Cinematic City. London: Routledge.
Debord, G. (1994), “Unity and Division within Appearances.” In Society of the Spectacle, Donald
Nicholson-​Smith, trans. New York: Zone Books, pp. 35–​46.
Fathy, S. (2018), Classical Egyptian Movies. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press.
Foucault, M. (1997), “Of Other Spaces: Utopias and Heterotopias”, “Panopticon”, and “Space,
Knowledge, and Power.” In N. Leach, ed., Rethinking Architecture. New York: Routledge, pp.
350–​79.
Harvey, D. (1989), The Condition of Postmodernity. Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Lamster, M., ed. (2005), Architecture and Film. New York: Princeton Architectural Press.
Leigh, N., and Kenny, J. (1996), “The City of Cinema: Interpreting Urban Images on Film.” Journal
of Planning Education and Research 16.

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McLuhan, M. (1964), Understanding Media: The Extensions of Man. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press.
Neumann, D., ed. (2000), Film Architecture. Munich: Prestel-​Verlag.
Penz, F., and Thomas, T. eds. (1997), Cinema and Architecture. London: British Film Institute.
Shafik, V. (2007B), Popular Egyptian Cinema: Gender, Class, and Nation. Cairo and New York: The
American University in Cairo Press.
Sims, D. (2012), Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City out of Control. Cairo: American
University in Cairo Press.
Singerman, D., and Amar, P. (2001), Cairo Cosmopolitan. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press.

Films
678, 2010
ʻAfārīt Al-​asphalt (Asphalt Devils), 1996
Al-​Qalb loh Ahkām (The Heart has its Rules), 1956
Al-​hob Fawq Haḍabat Al-​haram (Love on the Pyramid’s Plateau), 1986
Al-​Qahira 30 (The New Cairo), 1966
Al-​Sokareya (Sugar Street), 1969
Ana horra (I Am Free), 1959
Ard al-​A’hlām (Land of Dreams), 1993
Bein Al-​Qasrein (Palace Walk), 1964
El Warda al Bayda’ (The White Rose), 1933
Fi Sha’et Masr El Gedīda (In the Heliopolis Flat), 2007
Hasan wa Morcos (Hassan and Morcos), 2008
Hasan wa Morcos wa Cohain (Hassan, Morcos and Cohen), 1954
Hona AlQahera (Here is Cairo), 1985
‘Imārat Yaʿcoubian (Yacoubian’s Building), 2006
Karakoun fi al-​Shāriʿ (A Cell in the Street), 1986
Khaltet Fawzeya (Fawzeya’s Formula), 2009
Kharaga wa Lam yaʿod (He left and Did not Return), 1984
Lao Kont Ghani (If I were Rich), 1942
Mawlāna (Our Sheikh), 2016
Merāty Modīr ʿĀm (My Wife –​the General Manager), 1966
Nawwārā, 2015
Qasr al-​Shoq (Palace of Desire),1966
Shariʿ al-​Hob (Love Street’), 1958
Sawwā’ al-​’Utubīs (The Bus Driver), 1982
Tharthara fok al-​Nīl (Adrift on the Nile), 1971
Youm Lel Settat (A Day for Women), 2016
Youm Mor, Youm Helw (Bitter Day, Sweet Day),1988
Zuqāq al-​Madaq (Madak Alley), 1963

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17
REVOLUTIONARY CAIRO
The City Still Remembers

Dina Ezzat

The walk towards the 10th anniversary of the 25 January 2011, Revolution was anything
but un-​painful. As a journalist who spent most of the 18 days going in and out of Tahrir
Square, making phone calls to officials and political figures, from across the spectrum,
and following the coverage in state-​run, international and social media, I found nothing
left of the glorious moment. Tahrir Square in particular looked very different with a new
architectural scheme that seemed to detach it from the January 2011 memory.
However, the memory of the people who lived the Revolution –​some loved and some
feared –​is hard to erase. The women and men who were in their early 20s are now getting
well into their 30s, with no regret for what they did but no hope to see their dreams
of a decade ago come true, at least not any time soon. They lost faith, or almost did.
They even lost the bravery that put them at the frontline a decade ago. They would not
even wish to be openly associated with their role in the Revolution for fear of “possible
repercussions”.
I went to Tahrir Square to talk to them. From there I followed the path of the Revolution
and its echo across a city that has seen so many big political events. I reached out to some
old notebooks, went through the interviews and the memories. It all brought the past to
the present, as it is often the case when one walks and talks to the residents of Cairo.
It is a sunny morning on Friday 27 November 2020. Hassan, Salem and Hoda (not
their real names) are on their way to Tahrir Square –​each aboard a different line of the
three lines of the Cairo underground metro. Hoda is coming from Heliopolis, on the
east side of the city on Line3 after having made the connection to Line2 to get into
the city’s most central square. Hassan is coming on Line1 from Ghamra,a closer point
in the east of the city. And Salem is coming on Line2 from Giza to the west of Cairo. Since
the beginning of 2020, the three friends, all in their thirties, have made a habit of meeting
every other week for a stroll around the city. Tahrir Square has been their meeting point
of choice because it was at this central square of the city that they met back in January
2011 during their participation in 18 days of demonstrations, which started to take shape,
in Cairo, at this central square –​to be later echoed across the city and across the country.
This square had once carried the name of Khedive Ismaʿil, the man who gave the
city a strong dose of modernization in the 19th century, before getting the name Tahrir

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(meaning liberation) after the Free Officers ascended to power in the wake of the 1952
Revolution. In late November 2020, less than two months to the 10th anniversary of
the January Revolution, Tahrir Square was going through a very controversial “face-​
lift” with an obelisk and four mini sphinxes being placed at the central point. Ten years
earlier, it was at this very central point that the leaders of the January Revolution put
up a podium to announce the will of the demonstrating masses. For many archeologists
and designers these changes were not compatible with the history of the square, which
had never held any Pharaonic association beyond the fact that it hosts the Egyptian
Museum. For Hassan, Salem and Hoda, this was more of a “face-​off ” rather than a
“face-​lift”. They found that the idea behind the change was to make Tahrir Square look
different from the way it looked ten years earlier when it was venue for the most signifi-
cant movement of the January 2011 Revolution.
“We met at the first week of the 25 January Revolution and we kept meeting until we
joined the crowds on Friday 11 February in celebrating the decision of Egypt’s president
at the time, Hosni Mubarak, to step down”, Hoda said. On that day, Hoda, then in her
twenties, chose to walk back home from Tahrir Square to Triumph Square in the district
of Heliopolis, east of Cairo. She still used the old reference “Triumph”, like almost every
single Cairo resident, as she never acknowledged the change of its name to “Hussein Bin
Talal”. “Oh they keep changing names for some reason or the other, all over the city, not
just in Heliopolis. Tahrir Square was once called Sadat Square –​or so they tried to call it,
the authorities I mean; but for everyone it remains to be Tahrir Square, just as Triumph
remains to be Triumph and so on”, Hoda said.
A walk from Tahrir to Triumph would have been a 50-​minute drive by car. This
meant more than a five-​hour walk. However, on that memorable evening, Hoda did not
care how long it would take her. Nor did she mind that it was well past midnight. This
was not a night when Cairo slept. “On that evening throughout the late hours of the
night well into the following morning, the entire city seemed to have taken to the streets
to celebrate what we then thought was a new beginning for the country”, she said. On
her way, Hoda walked through Ramses Street, previously called Queen Nazli Street,
passed by al-​Fath Mosque, the Coptic Hospital, Ramses College and the College du
Sacré-​Coeur in Ghamra, the Mar Morcos Coptic Cathedral of Egypt, al-​Nour Mosque,
and ʿAin Shams University ʿAbbaseya. “I could not cut through Sharia’ al-​Nadi, next
to Heliopolis Sporting Club (HSC), because the street is very close to al-​Ittehadeya
(the presidential offices) and the private residence of Hosni Mubarak, just behind HSC,
and the road was zoned off by heavy security presence, so I had to walk through Roxy
Square into al-​Higaz Street, through Heliopolis Square and then headed to Triumph
Square”, she recalled.
Walking “tirelessly” for over five hours, through segments of the city that had been
built from the early 19th to the mid 20th centuries, Hoda was viewing a city of many
centuries coming all alive to the celebration of a victorious revolution. For this then
young woman who had never known a day without the presidency of Hosni Mubarak,
who had assumed office in October 1981, the city, with its multiple layers, was rejoicing
to finally see him end a three-​decade rule. On that night, she saw none of the otherwise
visible socio-​economic barriers that had always defined the city’s neighborhood. Through
the path she took home she saw all districts and all people “just coming together as
Egyptians –​with no religious, social or economic barrier; exactly the way it was in Tahrir
Square for consecutive 18 days”.

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Elsewhere –​Away from Tahrir

Hoda did not know it that night that it was never the case that the entire city, much less
the entire country, subscribed to the Tahrir Square mood. Nor was everyone really cele-
brating Mubarak’s decision to bow to the will of the nation-​wide massive demonstrations
and to give up all presidential powers. At an apartment building in Heliopolis Square,
just ten minutes away from Hoda’s house in Triumph Square, there were people whose
skepticism, maybe even fear, over the outcome of the demonstrations and of the future
was the prevailing mood.
Nargues, a retired banker who had been living on her own since the immigration of
her three children to North America and Australia and the death of her husband, was
very scared on that evening, to say the least. At 8 p.m. of 11 February, not very long after
Vice President Omar Souliman announced that Mubarak was stepping down, Nargues
called upon a neighbor’s house to talk to Kamal, a retired military officer, about his take
on the future. “Madame Nargues was very nervous, quite untypically. She kept clutching
the cross that always hang from her necklace as if to seek reassurance”, Kamal recalled.
Over red tea with cardamom served by Siham, the equally anxious spouse of Kamal,
Nargues spoke of the late years of Anwar Sadat before his assassination in 1981 when
“things started to change with the rise of this Islamist discourse”. At the time, she
recalled with revived unease, some colleagues at the bank she worked for started treating
her “differently” as they adopted some of the Islamist ideas that called for allegedly good
Muslims to stay away from unnecessary dealings with Copts. It was in these years that
for the first time of her then close to 20 years since she came to live in Heliopolis with her
husband that people on the tram, which used to be “a landmark of the neighborhood”,
would stare with a restrained but obvious unease at the cross she wore. Actually, it was
not many years into Mubarak’s rule when she became one of very few women, of her
close-​to-​retirement age, who was unveiled, whether in the bank or in most of the places
she frequented.
Nargues told Kamal that in the past four decades the neighborhood that was once
quite mixed, with so many churches for Copts, Catholics and Evangelicals, started to lose
its very tolerant nature that was very compatible with its eclectic religious composition.
Nargues was aware that some people left after the 1967 military defeat as they lost faith
in the future of their country, which had seemed glorious in the mid 1950s to the early
1960s, and that the second and third generations of Egyptians of Greek, Arminian and
Levant origins also opted for a future in North America or Australia. In fact, it would
slightly depress Nargues to see some of the churches that dot Heliopolis losing the joyful
aura they used to have on Sundays and holidays as they became frequented by fewer and
fewer people.
However, as she kept telling Kamal and Siham over and over again on that evening
of 11 February, Nargues never wanted to leave to join her children who had started
new homes abroad because she wanted to die and be buried in Cairo where she and her
mother and grandmother were born. Since she was born in Shoubra, the once predom-
inantly Coptic neighborhood north of Cairo, in the early 1940s, Nargues never left Cairo
except for visits, short or long –​in or out of Egypt. “She just kept saying that she does
not know any other place [that she could call home] and that Egypt was that place where
she wanted to spend the remainder of her years”, Kamal recalled.
On that evening of 11 February 2011, Nargues was scared that as a Copt she was
losing the shield of safety that Mubarak’s rule, a somehow secular one, offered to the

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Christians of Egypt, who, despite still being the largest Christian community in terms of
numbers all across the Middle East, had already been going into dwindling numbers due
to migration. She was afraid that the Islamsits who were in Tahrir Square and who had
been holding meetings with top state officials during the last week of the demonstrations
(she used the world “confusion” (lakhbata) not demonstrations) could take over. “I could
not be reassuring; I did not see this promised blooming economy coming our way; I have
been around for long enough to know that this was a moment of false freedom; I knew
the issue was never about Mubarak –​[not just about Mubarak]”, Kamal said. Already
approaching his 80th birthday on that day of 11 February, Kamal had been truly around
for long enough to see what he called the beginning of the path that brought Mubarak
to office, right after the assassination of Anwar Sadat on 6 October 1981. For him it all
started shortly after the ousting of King Farouk by the Free Officers in 1952. Democracy
was the promise of a “previous revolution” but it was never delivered.
For Kamal, the statement that Mubarak’s second man Omar Souliman read to
announce the decision of Mubarak to “let go of his presidential duties” was, in a way, as
“ambiguous” as the statement that Sadat read to announce the Free Officers’ takeover
in 1952. In 1952 as in 2011, the statements failed to offer any insight into the future, he
thought. “In 1952, many people were happy to see the King and his men go. In 2011,
some people were really happy to also see Mubarak and his men go, others were angry,
and some were really scared that Mubarak stepped down”, Kamal said. He added, “But
[unlike the case with Farouk] in 2011, the question was not about Mubarak, not in my
opinion; Mubarak was part of a regime, or even the head of the setup at that moment;
it was not about Mubarak”. For Kamal, this is a big difference between 1952 and 2011 –​
“because in 1952 there was one regime replacing another; this was not the case in 2011”.

“The Plan of the Army”

Kamal was sitting on the balcony of the apartment, where he has been living ever since
he married Siham in 1960. Nargues, who came to live at the same apartment building on
the same year, with her newly wed husband, was also present. Kamal was not sure how
things would unfold but he was certain as he told his nervous neighbor that “ultimately
the armed forces will remain responsible –​somehow; not sure how. Madame Naruges
was really nervous and she kept looking from the balcony and staring at the rails of the
tramway as if she was waiting for some barbed and armed men to appear and to start
attacking [Mar-​Girguis] church across from the house and she kept asking me about the
‘plan of the army’ ”, Kamal recalled.
He himself was not sure about the nature of “the plan of the army”. He was not even
sure that there was a full plan. He just thought that “by the nature of things”, right since
the early days of the demonstrations on 25 January 2011, the army must have had an idea
in mind about how to “manage things whichever way the situation would go”. As far as
he remembers, the army has always been able to step in. He just tried to reach out to those
who might have an idea about the army’s “gambit”.
In Tahrir Square, Hoda recalled, the crowds were so reassured to see the army tanks
finding their way to the Square on 29 January 2011 for the first time since the beginning
of the demonstrations and the subsequent confrontations with the police and anti-​riot
forces that peaked on 28 January 2011, not just in Tahrir but all over the city especially in
the poorer neighborhoods, in parallel with cutting the Internet service across the country.
The tanks got stationed at the entries and exits of the square without threatening anyone

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or asking the protestors to pull out. For the crowds in Tahrir, Hoda recalled, this was a
message that the armed forces, contrary to the fear of some, were not out to crush the
demonstrations. “We saw them coming to station next to the Egyptian Museum and at
ʿAbdelMoneʿim Riyad Square [on the road between Tahrir Square and the Radio&TV
building]; people were telling one another ‘the tanks are here’; we were happy that
they were just standing there and not threatening the demonstrators in any way; we
were sure that they would not obey any possible orders from Mubarak to squash the
demonstrations”, Hoda said. “We did not know what orders Mubarak would give but
in view of the bad clashes of 28 January 2011 in many parts of the city, we did fear the
worst”, she added. From their place at Tahrir Square, demonstrators used their phones,
once the Internet signal was restored, to send text messages to friends elsewhere around
the country explaining that the armed forces were more likely to side with the people
rather than with the president. For subsequent days, men and women would salute the
soldiers at the tanks as the demonstrators were getting in out and of Tahrir Square. Hoda
recalled that the presence of the tanks put an end to the assaults that some demonstrators
would face from groups of thugs who were openly stationed at the entries and exits to
and from downtown Cairo, the Corniche –​in the directions of north and south –​and
Zamalek.
For Kamal, the presence of the tanks in Tahrir Square related more to the need for
the armed forces to secure stability in the capital and around the buildings of key state
establishments. It was, he thought at the time, rather a show of presence rather than an
act of backing up the revolution. However, when the Supreme Council of the Armed
Forces (SCAF) issued its first statement on Thursday 10 February 2011 after a meeting
that was not headed by Mubarak, who as president was the commander-​in-​chief of the
Armed Forces, Kamal was “just sure that the army is getting ready to handle the situ-
ation”. One way or the other, he thought, “they would need to ask Mubarak to leave the
presidency in order to keep the situation under control”.
In “the Square”, Hoda recalled that every morning the crowds who decided to start a
sit in would wait for the daily papers to come in with friends joining them to follow on
the orientation of the SCAF. “We were following everything on Facebook but we were
always looking for detailed stories in the papers. Social media platforms were already in
use, but it was not offering as extensive coverage as it would today”, she said. And right
since the arrival of the first tank at Tahrir, the crowds started chanting: “One hand –​the
people and the army are one hand”. “In the first few days we were saying it half believing
it and half hoping that the army was not there to crush the revolution, but with the
passing of days we got to believe that the army was there because they saw that it was
impossible for Mubarak to stay in power and they just wanted things to be done in an
orderly manner –​maybe they feared possible looting and rioting or maybe they feared
something else, I don’t know”, Hoda said.
To consolidate the crowds in Tahrir Square, members of the Muslim Brotherhood
who had joined the revolution on 28 January despite earlier hesitation were sharing infor-
mation about meetings that brought together leading members of this oldest Islamist
organization with some high state officials. “The Muslim Brotherhood were certainly
very active in organizing the Square and in defending it against an assault of the thugs
who came on the back of camels and donkeys from a southern point in the city; we
believed they were part of the revolution and we trusted their assessment on where the
state institutions, including the army, stood”, Hoda added.

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The Brotherhood Dynamic

In the same apartment building, living next door to Kamal’s, Mahmoud, a retired
engineer with an old and very much dormant membership of the Muslim Brotherhood,
was also apprehensive on the evening of 11 February 2011. His concerns, however, were
very different from those of Nargues, his old-​time “dear” neighbor. In his late seventies,
Mahmoud had lived in Heliopolis for a good part of his life, just like many other members
of Cairo’s high-​ranking professionals with an association with the Muslim Brotherhood.
His parents had moved from the house they got married in at Haddayek al-​Koubbah, a
once upscale neighborhood in the north east of Cairo, to Heliopolis in the early 1950s.
He got married to Safiya in a Heliopolis apartment building not so far from his parents’
new house in the early 1960s at the peak of Nasser’s years and at the time where an asso-
ciation with the Muslim Brotherhood was effectively a liability that could somehow send
someone to long and harsh imprisonment.
Watching the leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood on Egyptian and Arab satellite
channels, in the early days of February 2011, talking about their joining ranks with other
demonstrators to defend Tahrir Square against thugs who attacked demonstrators in
the late evening of 2 February, brought him unpleasant memories. He remembered the
time during the Nasser years where he looked with considerable suspicion at every pos-
sible visitor coming to call on any of his neighbors as a potential secret police officer
in civilian clothing coming to arrest him. He remembered the sympathy that all his
neighbors, including the families of Kamal and Dr. Nashed, Nargues’s late husband,
showed to his family when he actually got arrested in the dawn of a 1966 winter day and
how his family was so well looked after until his release in the early years of Sadat’s rule.
“I just could not believe the images I was seeing on TV with Muslim Brotherhood leaders
giving live interviews from Tahrir Square”, he said. “I know that during Sadat’s and
Mubarak’s years, the Muslim Brotherhood were tolerated and even given some limited
space to operate but it was not like they were ever fully recognized as a political group
… . Watching the images coming from Tahrir or later coming from top official offices
with leading members of the Muslim Brotherhood openly present, I recalled so many
images, painful images, from the past; it was like a long video tape that was somehow
being played in my head”, he added.
On 11 February 2011 in his living room, like everyone else in the city, this retired and
generally quiet engineer, who had become very quiet since he was released from prison
in the early 1970s, was also “worried about the future”. With the positive vibes of the
moment, he wished to be hopeful but with the experience of the past he “knew better
than to get too optimistic”. Mahmoud “wished” for a future of political pluralism and
democracy where the Muslim Brotherhood could operate peacefully and safely. However,
with the heavy weight of the unforgotten-​even-​if-​unspoken painful memories, he knew
it was best to remain cautious. He himself had not been politically active for so many
years. Since he came out of jail, he decided to just pay his membership fees to the Muslim
Brotherhood and to attend some social events, but he would never take part in any pol-
itical activities. “I thought it was best that the army is ruling and that is the way it would
always be. I came out of jail not with a wish to avenge but with a conviction that the
role of the Muslim Brotherhood should be mostly social and religious –​not political”,
he said.
This said, on that winter evening, Mahmoud was not unaware of the fact that the
continuous strong political currents in the Organization were really hitting a peak after

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the close association the members of the Organization had with other demonstrators in
Tahrir Square. He feared that that rare moment of inclusiveness that came in the 18 days
would encourage the influential leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood to think that the
moment of “empowerment” (Tamkeen) has come their way. “I was watching the news
and I was following the reactions; there was certainly a marked sense of joy; but I just
feared that people, in general not just the Muslim Brotherhood, were not seeing beyond
the moment; I thought it was wrong to think that everyone was happy to see the success
of the Revolution; in Heliopolis for example there was an obvious state of mixed feelings
right from the first day”, he said.
The phone calls Mahmoud received from the active members of the Organization,
some his age group and some from the younger generations, confirmed his fears.
“I got the impression that they got rather overwhelmed with the positive sentiments they
received in Tahrir and with the fact that some state officials were telling them that it is
the role of the Muslim Brotherhood, as the biggest and most effective organization, to
help in bringing the country back to normality”, he said. He recalled that he cautioned
those who called against rushing into poorly calculated decisions. “I remember saying to
one that Egypt is not Tahrir and that if he was to come to Heliopolis to have tea with me
he would see for himself that there is a considerable apprehension among many about
what the future would bring”, Mahmoud said. He added that he had to specify that those
who were apprehensive were not just Christians. He also recalled that his appeal for com-
posure and for taking time to slowly re-​launch the Muslim Brotherhood were met with
reassuring statements suggesting that the masses had faith in the Islamists and it was the
moment to capitalize on that faith.

Spring of Worry
Cairo is not a city where the advent of spring means pleasant weather –​not immediately
at least. On the contrary, for Cairo, spring always starts with Khamassine (the annual
sandstorms that arrive from the Sahara Desert) that take over the city for a few successive
days before they settle down to allow for more pleasant weather. March 2011 had much
more than its share of sandstorms –​not just for Cairo but also for the entire country.
Indeed, it was the month where the nation had to get into one of the most difficult post-​
Revolution debates: a new constitution or an amended constitution.
A committee of five prominent constitutional experts was assigned by SCAF, which
was then running the country, to amend the constitution to allow for it to rule through
a transition period leading to the election of a new president and a new parliament,
now that the one that had just been elected amid loud accusations of outright fraud was
dismantled. The committee in charge of the task was immediately labeled by the secular
quarters to be of Islamist flair. The seculars called for voting against the amendments.
The Islamists lobbied for voting in favor of the amendments. In TV appearances, and on
behalf of the SCAF who wished to keep the constitution essentially as it was to avoid the
introduction of a truly liberal constitution, leading secular figures were openly accusing
the Islamists of lobbying for the amendments.
On 19 March 2011, the day of the referendum on the amendments, Mahmoud saw
much sympathy for the Islamists’ appeal for a “yes” vote. Some of this sympathy, he
thought, came from untypical quarters. He then thought to himself on that day that
maybe he was wrong to be so apprehensive. The impression he got from his Heliopolis
ballot station was confirmed by friends and relatives living in other quarters of Cairo.

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“I thought to myself that Tahrir might have really been a moment of revelation whereby
people got to accept one another for who they are and what they can give; I know that
the Muslim Brotherhood has a long history not just of political opposition but also of
incredible social work; and I thought that maybe they were getting credit for this work
and may be things were changing; I wasn’t very sure though”, Mahmoud said.
However, on one afternoon of early April, Mahmoud walked his way to the local
bakery and while waiting to be served he unintentionally overheard a casual chat of a
couple, in their early 30s, about a possible “power-​sharing game between the regime that
Mubarak left behind and the Islamists”. That brought back his worries –​fast and firm.
As he walked back home with his bag of bread, he was thinking that maybe it was best for
the Muslim Brotherhood to pause for a while. “I thought it was an exceptional moment
of acceptance that we need to build on slowly rather than waste by acting too hastily”,
he said. In his mind, he knew that Cairo is not exactly representative of the mood in the
wider rural and less economically advantaged parts of the country. Still, he thought that
even if those who worried about the intentions of the Muslim Brotherhood out of Cairo
were fewer than those in the capital, then it would still be wiser for the leaders of the
Organization to be cautious with their calculations and moves.
Mahmoud, as he said, “was not sure” about the nature of talks between SCAF and
Muslim Brotherhood leaders. He only knew that some of his friends –​members of the
Organization –​were very proud of the way these talks were going. “I was not in a pos-
ition to actually ask about any details, but I was in a position to understand what I was
seeing and hearing all around me”, he said. Often enough, his interlocutors would tell
him that what he sees or hears in Heliopolis “is not very representative”. He agreed that
Heliopolis was not “very” representative. However, having lived for a few decades in this
district that was built in the early 20th century, he knew that Heliopolis was a mixed
enough community to be representative “enough”.
At the beginning of the second decade of the new Millennium, Heliopolis was no
longer the oasis it was designed to be in the early years of the 20th century when it
housed plenty of foreigners and many upper-​middle-​class residents. By the year 2011,
Heliopolis, already over a 100 years old, was more a district of predominantly middle-​
class residents, some of whom have come under harsh economic challenges, and with a
considerable Christian presence, more and more predominantly Coptic, and substantial
diversity in political taste –​ranging from those who opposed the Revolution and cried
when Mubarak stepped down to those who were spending their days in Tahrir, and from
those who hated and/​or feared Islamists to those who subscribed to Islamist organiza-
tion and intellects. “In this district, or actually in my apartment building, I could see all
the shades and I was thinking that I saw the wider picture and this was why I was more
concerned than hopeful”, he recalled.
In the days and weeks that followed the 19 March Referendum, everyone was following
the development, ever so anxiously. Hardly a Friday would pass by without a demonstra-
tion, big or small, taking place in Tahrir Square to call for bringing the Mubarak regime
to justice over allegations of crimes of outrageous corruption and violations of human
rights. On 13 April Mubarak and his two sons were arrested. On the evening of 13 April,
Kamal and Mahmoud met for tea at Mahmoud’s. “We were both intrigued; we did not
quite understand what was going on; we knew, both of us, that there was something
cooking but we could not tell what … I remember we decided to go together for the
evening prayers on that day in the neighborhood mosque; as we left the mosque after the
prayers we heard people chatting; and apart from the fact that some people seemed very

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happy and some people were upset, nobody seemed to be thinking of what would happen
next to the country”, he said.
Developments kept coming. In May 2011, the Muslim Brotherhood launched their
newly formed “Freedom and Justice” party in a big and well-​attended political gathering
in al-​Moqattam. A few weeks later, in August, the law enforcement entered Tahrir to
force evict demonstrators, for the first time since the ousting of Mubarak.

An Anxious City
On the evening of 9 October 2011, a national TV anchor, with distinct red lipstick, was
on air appealing to the “good citizens” to rise to the responsibility of supporting the
army “in the face of a division of people” who were attacking the soldiers. Mahmoud
was watching TV in his living room with extreme unease. He could hear Nargues coming
down the stairway from her apartment on the third floor crying, unintentionally in a
relatively loud voice, “Oh Jesus; Oh Jesus” –​as she was knocking at the door of Kamal’s
apartment on the same floor. He looked at his wife and he told her “the worst has started”.
Already several Coptic churches in the poorer neighborhoods of the city had been
attacked by unidentified assailants. Some of these churches were actually burnt. The
mood of sectarian unity that prevailed during and right after the Revolution was being
seriously challenged. On that evening, Hoda was meeting with Salem, Hassan and other
“Tahrir comrades” at one of the downtowns cafés, which have been “in” for young
activists since the early years of the 2000s. It was that café that had often brought these
three and other “comrades” together around tea and cigarettes in the weeks leading to
the 25 January Revolution as they would endlessly share their dismay about politics and
fear for the future. They were aware of a scheduled march of Coptic activists and individ-
uals to call on the state to protect the churches. Hoda was looking at her mobile phone
when she got a message from Sally, a childhood friend who was in the demonstration, to
tell her that she got injured as the demonstration came under attack, upon arriving from
Shoubra in Maspero, from soldiers in military uniform.
Hoda was too shocked to believe what she heard. But it did not take long for others
at the café to start getting information about a confrontation between the Coptic
demonstrators on the one hand and army soldiers and some Salafis on the other hand.
“I thought I was walking into a nightmare; that is what I thought back then; I could not
believe that the armed forces would order an attack on peaceful Coptic demonstrators
or that the state TV would call on people, essentially Muslims, to attack Copts; this was
almost an open invitation for civil strife; I could not believe that this was ‘the plan’ –​
to start a sectarian conflict so to quell the demands of the Revolution”, she said. At
that moment, she wanted to rush to the demonstrations in Maspero (the segment of the
Nile Corniche by the Radio&TV building that carries the name of 19th-​century French
Egyptologist Gaston Maspero). However, she had to rush to see her wounded friend,
who was taken to the Coptic Hospital (which is part of the public health service but
still carries its name of origin as it was established under the sponsorship of the Coptic
Church in the early 20th century). She went east to the hospital while her friends headed
south to Maspero –​both proved to be disturbing destinations. “Sally was not being
admitted into the hospital as the director of the hospital was waiting for directives from
the Minister of Health to allow demonstrators in. Luckily, she could walk so I took her
in a taxi to a private hospital in Heliopolis and there I said she was hit in a street quarrel
to make sure that she would be admitted and treated”, Hoda said.

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After taking her childhood friend home, Hoda went home to learn at length “the
details of the nightmare” as shared by her friends who had gone to inspect the Maspero
developments. “I never knew why anyone thought that the Coptic demonstrators were
armed because clearly they were not and I never really understood why the orders were
given to attack the demonstrators in such a vile way that caused over 20 people to die
and dozens to be wounded … . And I never knew who was that alleged ‘Third Party’ that
members of the SCAF spoke of in a press conference they held a few days after the night-
mare … . What third party would get the army soldiers to attack demonstrators before
the Radio&TV building while a broadcaster is calling on citizens at random to come to
the rescue of the soldiers? It all seemed as surreal and nightmarish as could be”, she said.
The tragic death of Mina Daniel, a 20-​year-​old activist who was at the heart of Tarhir
Square demonstrations during the Maspero attack on Coptic demonstrators, left Hoda
so “shocked with pain”. “I met Mina at Tahrir; I remember small chats with him where
he said that he was not in Tahrir Square as representative of the poor Copts who live in
the poorer neighborhoods of Cairo but as representative of all Egyptians who wished to
live in freedom and with dignity as equal citizens … . It was such a heartache!” she said.
A little over a month later, Hoda joined a demonstration on Mohamed Mahmoud
Street, next to the old headquarters of the American University in Cairo –​just off
Tahrir Square and leading on to the old headquarters of the Ministry of Interior. The
protestors were demanding justice for those men and women who were killed during the
January Revolution at the hands of police and anti-​riot forces. The police attacked the
demonstrators to get them off the street. Clashes occurred. Around 40 demonstrators
lost their lives and some got very seriously wounded.
Almost ten years later, however, all the graffiti drawings that had been done in memory
of those who died during the Mohamed Mahmoud demonstrations have been completely
wiped off by the authorities. “They started erasing them in 2016 and in one year they
were all gone –​and there was no way that they would be retrieved; the graffiti is gone
but never the memory of the day … . We will always remember it as Shariaʿ ʿOyoune
Alhoreya (Streets of Eyes of Freedom) [a reference to those demonstrators shot in the
eye during the November 2011 demonstration], which seemed to be the most violent
day since 28 January 2011. In fact it turned out to be not just scary or painful but also
a foreshadowing of more and more troubling times and more and more pain”, Hoda
stated. Indeed, three weeks later, Hoda was heading home from a visit to her dentist when
she heard of the clashes of Shariaʿ Maglis al-​Wozara (the Street that houses the offices
of Cabinet and the Prime Minister), again not very far from Tahrir Square. On Friday 16
December demonstrators again gathered to call for an end to what they said was the pro-
crastination of SCAF in executing justice against those responsible for attacking, killing
and wounding demonstrators, and to launch a prompt political process of transition. In
a sense, these demonstrations were a sequel to those of Mohamed Mahmoud.
When Hoda arrived home and turned the TV on, she saw a young lady in a red jacket
and a grey scarf crying and saying that her husband was killed. “This was the spouse of
ʿEmad ʿEffat, Sheikh Emad Effat; I was sitting there totally shocked –​ʿEmad ʿEffat was
killed; his wife was suggesting he was targeted to be killed”, Hoda said. A prominent
clergyman with strong revolutionary positions who once said “I can sense the smell of
Heaven at Tahrir Square”, ʿEmad ʿEffat was at the heart of the Revolution.
However, despite the clashes on the streets, the authorities went ahead with the first
legislative elections after the ousting of Mubarak. As 2011 was coming to an end, Egypt
had a free-​and-​fair elected Parliament with an outstanding Islamist majority. For those

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who feared an Islamist hegemony this was nothing but disturbing news. Mahmoud
remembered that towards the third week of March 2012, he ran into Nargues on her
way back from the Coptic Cathedral, where she paid her last respects to Pope Shenouda,
the Coptic Patriarch who passed away on the 17th of the month. He expressed his
condolences to his clearly devastated neighbor. He understood her grief over the death
of the Patriarch, who was very much loved and looked up to by the Copts of Egypt.
However, he was shocked to hear her say that she no longer feels that Egypt wants
her to stay and that she was considering the long-​time wish of her eldest son for her
to join him in New York where he had moved. He knew that this was more about the
Islamsit electoral victory than the death of Pope Shenouda. Later in the month, when the
Muslim Brotherhood announced a decision that the Organization’s strong second man
Khairat ElShater would run for presidency, Mahmoud was sure that Nargues would now
want to go.
Kamal, for his part, learned from Nargues that she was really considering a final exit
from Egypt, which would have really broken her heart because the only thing that she was
hoping for was to be buried in the same cemetery where her husband had been put to rest.
He tried to convince her not to overreact and to just wait for the results of the elections.
In his mind, Kamal said, he could not believe that “the plan of the army” was to allow
for a situation whereby the Muslim Brotherhood would rule. “I had already been out
of service for so long but this just did not make sense to me and I said this to Madame
Nargues. I told her that even if the candidate of the Muslim Brotherhood was to win,
the armed forces will always be there to secure a balanced approach from the president
towards all citizens”, he said.
In April, Nargues was reassured, though apprehensively, to see Mohamed Morsi,
the leader of the Freedom and Justice Party, and other leading figures of the Muslim
Brotherhood head to the Coptic Cathedral on Easter Eve to attend the early part of the
Mass and to shake hands with Bishop Bachomios, who headed the Coptic Church in
the interim period between the death of Pope Shenouda and the choice of a new head of
the Coptic Church. Still, since the final list of presidential candidates came out, Nargues
had been praying for the victory of Ahmed Shafik, the former Minister of Aviation under
Mubarak. With the run-​off finally decided between Morsi and Shafik in June, Nargues
was praying and praying. On 24 June, Nargues was in a state of complete shock when
the name of Morsi was announced as the elected president of Egypt. She just hoped
that Kamal would be proven right and that the armed forces would not let things go the
Islamist way. In Cairo University, Morsi was inaugurated in June 2012 with a speech that
promised unity. However, “unity” was quite a vague term.

Days of Turmoil
As 2012 was approaching its last weeks, Hoda was getting worried that the new president
of Egypt would fail to live up to the expectations of the January Revolution. Nargues too
was worried. However, she found solace in the volume of heavy criticism that she saw on
all TV channels against Morsi. It made her think that Kamal knew what he was talking
about when he told her that the “army will not let things go in an Islamist direction”. She
remembered that before Morsi got into Al-​Ittihadia SCAF had issued a constitutional
declaration that granted the army enough powers to somehow limit those of the next
president.

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In the last week of November 2012 Hoda’s worst fears came true. Morsi issued a con-
stitutional declaration that granted him extra-​judiciary powers. The decision was sub-
ject to an outcry from all walks of political opposition. In the early days of December,
demonstrators took to Al-​Ittihadeya palace to protest against Morsi. Supporters of
Morsi were also finding their way to the venue of the presidential palace. The two sides
clashed. Hoda was extremely worried. She remembered that the armed forces would not
allow pedestrians, much less demonstrators, to pass by Al Ittihadeya during the January
Revolution days. Nargues was very hopeful. She felt that the country was turning against
Morsi and that her prayers would be heard so that she could stay for the remainder of her
life in the only country she would want to live and die in. The year 2012 was coming to an
end with big question marks over the future. It was not clear whether or not Morsi would
continue to resent all appeals for him to reconsider his strict Islamist alliance and it was
not clear either what the state establishment would do if the president was to stick to his
choices. It was clear, however, to Hoda and to Nargues alike, that the president and the
state establishment were not exactly in full agreement on the management of the country.
On 25 January 2013, Mahmoud went to pay a visit to Kamal at a Heliopolis hos-
pital where he was rushed to upon symptoms of a heart attack. The octogenarian retired
officer was hoping to recover and to be allowed back home in a few days. He was not
sure, however, whether he would live long enough to see Egypt “reaching the banks of
stability”. Upon his return home in the first days of February demonstrations were on
again. This time the protestors were not just making random calls of anger. They were
calling for the ousting of Morsi, who had barely been in the presidential palace for six
months. Hoda was already disappointed by the performance of Morsi. However, she felt
that things were moving very fast and that the coalition of opposition figures that allowed
some figures of the Mubarak regime into its ranks was pushing for a political confron-
tation rather than a political agreement. Nargues, for her part, was watching eagerly.
However, in the first week of April, she was all shaken to hear news of attacks on the
Coptic Cathedral in ʿAbbasseya from some radical Islamists.
Since its inauguration in June 1968, by Nasser and Pope Kirolos, this cathedral has
always been safe. Nargues was horrified by the news on TV. She thought something was
wrong. She took a taxi and rushed to ʿAbbasseya to join the petrified believers who were
standing on the street fearing for their church. She did not know what to think. She kept
recalling that Kamal, her trusted neighbor, told her that the armed forces would not
allow the new president to take the country into an excessive Islamist line.
The following day, Morsi called Pope Tawadros, the new patriarch of the Coptic
Church, who was chosen in November 2012, to assure his full commitment to secure the
Copts and the Coptic interests. The police arrested some suspects and started an investi-
gation. However, as far as Nargues was concerned there was nothing that Morsi could say
or do that would have reversed the horror she felt on the night her cathedral was attacked.
Later in the month of April, Nargues was again reassured to see the launch of Tamarod
(Rebel), the movement of activists who promised to collect enough petitions from across
the nation to demand a fast end to the presidency of Morsi. She was again praying.
30 June 2013 was set to be the date for Morsi to leave. The call was for nation-​wide
demonstrations to come out on that day to call for Morsi to step down. An across-​the-​
political-​board representation was all set to get out and join the demonstrations. There
were large segments of Feloul (the supporters of the Mubarak regime who hated the
January Revolution), Revolutionaries and even some shades of Islamists. There was a

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big “gathering” at Tahrir with military helicopters flying over the square. Some of the
demonstrators decided to walk their way from Tahrir to Al Ittihadeya to call on Morsi to
step down. There they met with the demonstrators who had already come to Heliopolis
from all districts of eastern Cairo.
Shariaʿ Al Nadi, AlAhram Street, Baghdad Street and Ibrahim El Lakkani Street
were all packed with demonstrators: a scene that was impossible to have been part of the
January Revolution when this block was zoned off by military police. Hoda had arrived
walking from Triumph Square to Al Ahram Street and was watching from the terrace of
the early-​20th-​century Groppi tea-​room across from Al Ittihadeya. She could hear some
of the demonstrators talking about “a matter of a few days before Al Ittihadeya would be
emptied of those bearded men”. To her eyes and mind, the scene was far too supported
by security to have any other ending. That evening when she went home to watch the
news, she saw a large and well-​organized crowd demonstrating under the protection of
the police and the army.
Nargues, for her part, was overjoyed with this scene. She felt “Egypt was coming
back”. On 3 July, Nargues cried out of joy to hear the Minister of Defense announce the
ousting of Mohamed Morsi in the presence of top army leaders, political figures, Pope
Tawdros and the Grand Imam of Al Azhar. Again, she was praying –​this time with much
more hope that this “situation will be over … and that she would be able to stay in the
country”.
Mahmoud, who had been praying that Morsi would step down before that day, feared
that from that time on political pluralism was to recede and that the persecution of the
Muslim Brotherhood would be again commonplace. “The message across all the media
channels was clear: the Muslim Brotherhood had hijacked the country”, he said. What
he feared more, he added, was that the leaders of the Organization would be still thinking
that they had the support of the masses and that they would not give in. The signs that
were coming from a sit-​in that the Muslim Brotherhood had started around Rabʿa Al
ʿAdaweyah Mosque in Nasr City, just a few kilometers from the presidential palace, were
indicative that the leaders were trying to reverse reality.
Ramadan, the holy fasting month of the Muslims, was around the corner –​it was
expected on the 10th of July 2013. Mahmoud decided to leave Heliopolis and go to spend
the months at a relative’s countryside house. For him, the city was becoming too much to
take. Kamal too was getting ready to leave the city for Alexandria, as he had been doing,
since retirement, on the first week of July for the three consecutive months of Cairo’s
often annoyingly hot summer. For her part, Nargues was getting very much in the habit
of being in a voluntarily “house-​locked” state. She feared going out. She was obsessed
by the idea that as a Copt she was a prime target for angry Islamists, who were openly
accusing the Copts of Egypt of supporting the ousting of the elected president. Hoda
too was too depressed to go out or to join her friends who were frequenting the Muslim
Brotherhood sit-​in. She thought that this sit-​in, and another that was taking place near
Cairo University, would not bring back Morsi to Al Ittihadeya. She was just worried
about the future. She did not know what to expect. She was not sure about the fate of
the process of democratization that was put in motion by the January Revolution. She
would hear the accounts of friends about the volume of anger of the Islamists and the
expanding space that the protestors were taking for the sit-​in around that mosque that
carries the name of an 8th-​century Sufi Saint, Rabʿa al-​ʿAdaweyah.
Away from Cairo, Mahmoud was not fully cut off from the news coming from the
capital. He was following the news of the interim president and the prime minister. He

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was receiving phone calls from acquaintances at the sit-​in who sounded confident about
“re-​addressing the situation” before the end of Ramadan. On the Radio and TV he was
following “horror stories” of people being violated by Muslim Brotherhood members
for having dared to get into the sit-​in. On the evening of 8 July 2013 after the evening
prayer, he learned of the clashes that occurred before a social facility of the Republican
Guard between Morsi supporters, who thought that the ousted president was held in that
building, and the security guards who acted to keep the protestors from breaking into
the building. He knew that things would get worse. Relatives and friends living in Nasr
City, east to Heliopolis, were sharing accounts of the anger of the residents of the neigh-
borhood over the sit-​in. On the evening of 24 July, he watched the news to learn that the
Minister of Defense, in the presence of the interim president, asked the people to go on
demonstrations to mandate the army to fight terror. It was a few days before the end of
Ramadan and the beginning of the feast.
On the morning of 14 August, only three days after Muslims celebrated the end of
Ramadan, Hoda woke up at 7 a.m., not to her alarm but to a phone call from Hassan. He
was telling her that the police had attacked the sit-​in. She decided to skip work and to stay
at home. She was watching all satellite channels that were covering the news. She was not
really sure what to think because different channels offered different narratives. The one
thing she was sure of was that “there was much bloodshed”. Hassan and Salem had tried
to head to Nasr City to see what was going on but the roads to the neighborhood were
cut off. The three had planned to meet on the evening of the following day but a curfew
was imposed in the city –​among other governorates. It was a reminder of the curfew that
came into effect on 28 January 2011. This time, however, they felt it was an end to rather
than the beginning of something. For two subsequent days, there were confrontations
between Morsi supporters and police around al-​Fath Mosque on Ramses Street. There
was also the commotion around Al Iman Mosque, in Nasr City, where the bodies of the
members of the Muslim Brotherhood killed during the dispersal of the sit-​in of Rabʿa
al-​ʿAdaweyah Mosque were being identified and taken for burial by family members. In
a few days, the city was set for a new political phase as those rejoicing over the end of
the rule of Morsi started to take to the streets to call on the Minister of Defense ʿAbdel
Fattah al-​Sisi to run for president.
Nargues could not wait to see the day when Sisi would be inaugurated as president.
Kamal and Mahmoud felt that their time was behind them and that they didn’t have
much stake or say in the future. Hoda, Hassan and Salem feared they were seeing an end
to the January Revolution. But Cairo continued to live for another day!

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PART 3

Discourses
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18
THE NORMALIZATION
OF HIJAB
Islamic Reveiling in Cairo

Sherifa Zuhur

The city of Cairo has a long-​established tradition of Islamic learning, religiosity and
spirituality. A commercial hub, it connected Egypt’s Mediterranean, Middle Eastern and
African identities, and was a political and intellectual incubator. The city burgeoned to
become the largest in Africa and the Middle East, symbolizing cosmopolitanism and
modernization. Novelists and screenwriters often portrayed Cairo’s effects on simple and
authentic migrants to the mega-​city as they encountered temptation, and downfall.
It was in Cairo that women first publicly demonstrated for Egyptians’ political rights.
Decades later, as part of a sahwa, a regional Islamic revival, religiopolitical parties began
to form in Cairo. This has affected Egypt in its entirety. To this day, Cairo continues to
mirror values of that sahwa which overcame the prior dominance of progressivism and
Arabist values. These are reflected in the norms of modesty and piety of the clothes of
the majority of the Cairene women.

Research on the “New Veil” –​Reveiling in the Late 1980s and Early 1990s
In 1987–​1988, I began doctoral research in Cairo. I wanted to understand the sahwa’s
impact on Egyptian women, their self-​image, and gender issues in Egyptian society.1
A visible sign of this impact was women’s adoption of a new, Islamic dress style including
the wearing of hijab (a head-​covering and more modest clothing). Most of those who
wore hijab believed it was commanded by Allah, a fard (a religious requirement.) Other
women considered the hijab an option and not a fard. A smaller number of women had
begun wearing niqab (a black face veil, head-​covering, gilbab, or ‘abaya, and gloves).
This dress style was not seen as a fard, but women who wore it said they were guaranteed
a place in heaven. Modern veiling had not yet spread to rural areas, where women wore
various types of locally specific long dresses and head-​coverings,2 nor was the hijab yet
widely worn by urban lower-​class women in Cairo (banat al-​balad).3
Before I began my fieldwork, anthropologists Fadwa al-​Guindi and Elizabeth Fernea
had explored certain aspects of reveiling and Islamist education, respectively.4 Valerie
Hoffman Ladd, a specialist in Arabic and Islamic studies, had examined the dynamics of
modesty and segregation.5 Sociologist Yvonne Haddad questioned Egyptian, Jordanian,

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Sherifa Zuhur

Omani, Kuwaiti and American respondents who had adopted the hijab. They gave
reasons for veiling as being religious, psychological, political, revolutionary, economic,
cultural, demographic, practical or imposed by family.6 Zainab al-​Ghazali, associated
with the Muslim Brotherhood, and certainly many other women, have worn hijab their
entire lives, defiantly, as a sign of religious commitment, whereas many other women
were raised by mothers who had not worn hijab7 and mostly endeavored to obtain educa-
tion and employment. Al-​Ghazali, nevertheless, evinced both women’s rights to political
activity, even if this included meeting with men (but wearing hijab),8 and also their dedi-
cation to family duties.9
I sought to understand the issues affecting women’s lives, not solely the limited
question of their use of hijab (or niqab). In women’s personal histories and the history
of gender in Egypt, I saw a Jungian concept, syzygy, operating. Syzygy is a conjunc-
tion or configuration aiding perception through relevant symbols. Along with certain of
Foucault’s ideas, it somewhat parallels Talal Asad’s notion of a discursive Islam in an
anthropology of Islam.10 As Samuli Shielke puts it, “tradition, in Asad’s sense, means
being grounded in an authoritative past that provides one with values, practices, and
concerns to cultivate in the now and towards the future”.11 Veiling with hijab or niqab
(or not) represented differing messages when worn by the university students who were
important to the inception of the sahwa, as compared to the working women in Arlene
MacLeod’s study,12 or professionals of different backgrounds.
There was no consensus as to whether the sahwa was a positive movement, or whether
it would manifest common features in different countries. Many observers considered it
an anachronistic reaction to the modernization process. Gradually, the sahwa replaced
the popularity of the leftist or socialist thought. This was considered a negative out-
come in intellectual circles heavily imbued with secularism, or laïcité, since the national
independence.

Research as Islamism and Reveiling Continued

Sociologist Saʿd Eddin Ibrahim was permitted to study Islamists in prison from two
different groups (the Military Academy and Takfir wa al-​Hijrah) for two years. He found
many came from rural-​urban migrant parents, and were recruited or self-​recruited in
educational institutions.13 He later classified the then-​active Islamic movements as being
Islamist, or non-​political, or part of Sufi movements.14
As research continued, others have characterized hijab as a norm in Egypt and
contrasted it with niqab-​wearing. Kenneth Jackson and Elizabeth Monk Turner’s study of
women in Egypt and Yemen found women who wear hijab mostly defined their rationale
in religious terms, whereas women who did not added some statements concerning cul-
ture and following fashion trends.15
Saba Mahmoud studied the “mosque movement”, women formally studying in Islamic
spaces.16 In a discrete space for this interest, Mahmoud’s respondents were not as varied
as mine. The percentage of women veiling by that time was much greater than it had been
17 years earlier. Mahmoud’s discussions showed the lasting power of women’s interest in
Islamic virtue and piety, and Muslims’ efforts in examining their own tradition, as less
patriarchal than portrayed.
Certain observers continued to rail against the sahwa, and to predict the end of
Islamism, certainly militant Islamism, until the death of Osama bin Ladin. Yet neither

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bin Ladin’s organization nor other violent or explicitly political Islamist entities were
eradicated. Instead, salafism became even more empowered as did salafi influence in
politics.
The small, but active, Egyptian women’s movement initially reacted to the hijab trend
with concern over its growth. Some denied the phenomenon’s significance, proclaiming
it a superficial fashion choice, or something adopted by the lower classes. This latter
attitude persists in the debate about the hijab and niqab in Cairo. I termed the dress
trend “reveiling”, because Egyptian women, urban and rural, had, for centuries, covered
their hair and worn certain modest outer garments prior to the introduction of modern
“Islamic-​style hijab”. Earlier forms of head or face covering and outer wraps were of
either local or Ottoman Turkish design and inspiration. Two Egyptian feminists, Huda
Shaʻrawi and Saiza Nabarawi, had cast off the yashmak (the elite face veil) in 1923.
I expected to find what others’ writing on the phenomenon had described as strong
peer or family pressure on women to wear hijab. Instead, most women I interviewed
insisted they had chosen it by their own free will and (mostly) their families neither
objected nor compelled them to wear it. However, a degree of social pressure became
influential. Women and their associates described the hijab as commanded by Allah, and
worn to please him. Having adopted hijab, many women were made to feel that it would
be sinful to stop wearing it. And the bigger the numbers of women wearing the hijab got,
the stronger the pressure to adopt it or to never take it off grew. This is a major difference
between today’s situation and that described by earlier researchers.
Quite a few women began by wearing the hijab, but then transitioned to the niqab. As
more women adopted the hijab, those who wore the niqab considered themselves to be
additionally modest and certain men saw them as better potential wives, as other men
could not see their faces. Such ideas have their roots in the historical period when women
were segregated from unrelated men.
The Egyptian government tried on numerous occasions to limit or outlaw niqab-​
wearing in schools or by faculty, but these bans were unpopular. The salafi parties,
including al-​Nur, did not exist when I did my original research. After the January 25,
2011 revolution, a salafist coalition of parties won more than 7.5 million votes in the first
parliamentary election and about 25% of the seats in parliament. Following the coup
or coup-​volution of June 30, 2013, haraki salafists were coopted by the state to survive,
salafi-​jihadists opposed the state, whereas other apolitical or independent salafists are
tolerated.
Salafists remain indignant at the attacks on the niqab in Egypt, and at the legal charges
in Europe and Canada. Required under Egyptian law to field political candidates, salafi
women running for parliamentary elections were at first represented by flowers, instead of
their own photographs. Electoral regulations later compelled them to post their personal
photographs like other candidates.
In the 1940s, the Muslim Brotherhood leaders and women’s wing had promoted hijab-​
wearing, but Egyptian society was unreceptive. The Brotherhood (Ikhwan) was suppressed
under Gamal ʿabd al-​Nasser in the 1950s. Some members fled abroad in exile and others
were jailed. A rise in the popularity of the hijab could not be entirely attributed to the
Ikhwan, or to other large Islamist movements, like the Gamaʿat Islameya, but neither
could reveiling be entirely depoliticized as all these groups’ supporters did wear hijab.
Earlier, when women began appearing in what they called ziyy Islami, (Islamic
dress, hijab and longer skirts, long sleeves or jilbab), they more likely held intellectual

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Sherifa Zuhur

or political ties to such Islamist organizations than several decades hence. Later, the
reveiling movement could be analyzed as a non-​political, or less political, phenomenon
simply suggesting adherence to norms of modesty and virtue.
I saw in my earlier work that women held a range of opinions regarding gender issues
which impact their lives, and toward national and activist approaches to expanding
women’s roles, including the efforts to make the Personal Status Law more equitable to
women. However, issues like femininity and masculinity are so deeply rooted in our history
and culture that simply investigating the issue of dress choice from the point of view of
women would be quite insufficient. Certain Islamist women, like Zainab al-​Ghazali, had
rejected men’s authority to prevent her from political activity, whereas others continued
to believe in a form of male guardianship, and the need for women to prioritize domes-
ticity, and rejected Western or other feminist calls. There were indications that women
remained more concerned with marriage than employment. This was a regional trend
academics within the Association for Middle East Women’s Studies and other regional
networks noted: women were entering and succeeding in higher education with higher
averages and rates than men, but still encountered difficulties in and ambivalence toward
workplaces. College education was becoming a new requirement for marriage, along with
modest dress, whether hijab or niqab. Perhaps this was a strategy ensuring men could, if
they needed to, rely on their wives’ income, even for a few years, when male employment
was unreliable. Also, familial pressures to swiftly have children interfered with women’s
career prospects. Though women’s participation in Islamic education17 continued, the
outcome did not translate into greater power within religious or other organizations.
It remained unclear how seriously women themselves (rather than autocratic leaders
discussed by Aili Tripp18) could “impact legal reforms or new understandings of Islamic
tradition”.19
In Cairo, some differences emerge between male and female views of hijab, as well as
between social classes. A group of students at the American University in Cairo surveyed
male students in the late 1990s. Most stated they expected and would demand their future
wives to wear hijab. Many female students at the AUC (like those conducting the study)
were not wearing hijab and believed they needed not wear it. Yet there was evidence their
male counterparts felt differently. Would this have been true 10 or 20 years earlier?
The popularity of hijab has not waned since the replacement of President Mohammad
Morsi’s government in 2013, although certain anti-​hijab restrictions, to be described
below, have emerged. The exact numbers of women wearing the hijab are uncertain. An
accurate study would probably show differing proportions depending on their location
within Greater Cairo. One might see higher numbers of hijab-​wearers in and around
the Old City, Haram (in Giza), the Rd. 9 area in Maʿadi and also New Maʿadi, Masr
Al Gadida, Dar al-​Salam, Imbaba, Matareya and Tora as compared to more recently
developed areas in the east of the city. Many believe that the proportion of hijab-​wearing
also depends on whether women drive their own automobiles to work, or use public
transportation. An estimate of 90% wearing hijab is suggested by many. An estimate of
higher than 80% to 85% takes into account Christian women who are not required to
wear hijab.

Cairo, the Islamic World, Public Space and Piety

In Cairo, women are not fully accepted in public space, where a lot of men tend to sexu-
alize their bodies. Although they moved into service-​sector and pink-​collar jobs, they

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may still encounter harassment. Relying on the additional modesty symbol of the hijab
was a strategy for self-​protection, according to some. Other researchers arriving in Egypt
from other Islamic communities where hijab had already become a norm portrayed it as
an unchanging symbol of women’s piety.
The years witnessed a gradual increase in hijab-​wearing in Lebanon, Syria, London,
Paris and Iraq, and the spreading of the niqab in Saudi Arabia (where prior circumstances
were altered by required ʿabaya-​wearing and persecution by morality police). Signaling
Islamic identity and piety held meaning to women both locally and regionally. Women
who wore the niqab wanted to be recognized by a certain category of men, whose Islamist
conservatism could also be detected by their beards and clothing styles. My interlocutors
in Egypt as well as in Saudi Arabia told me: “we (or they) want to recognize each other”.

New Islamic Woman and Activism vs. Normalized Hijab

In my initial research, I described the development of a new type of Egyptian woman,
a virtuous Islamic woman, very different from la nouvelle femme of the third through
the sixth decades of the twentieth century. This archetype was useful to others in their
research. Yet, is this female image still applicable since hijab was normalized?
In my study women who wore hijab made the interesting argument that they could
choose to support women’s rights, or “the woman question”, employing Islamic rather
than Western-​based concepts. They saw no contradictions between their support of
women and what they wore. State-​sponsored feminism was associated with reforms bene-
fiting women but it did not (particularly) support reveiling. These reforms, including those
easing divorce for women, allowing them to remain in the family abode after divorce, and
re-​criminalizing FGM (female genital mutilation) via the Child Protection Act, were not
embraced by social conservatives and Islamists.

New Generational Perceptions and Negotiations in Cairo

Several social generations or cohorts have grown up seeing and wearing the hijab. The
lower-​class Cairene bint al-​balad’s prior dress style was mostly replaced with versions of
hijab. Schools, particularly the Azhar schools, promoted the wearing of hijab even by
pre-​pubescent girls. In 2009, Shaykh al-​Azhar, Mohammed Sayyed Tantawi, banned the
wearing of the niqab in the segregated classrooms and dormitories of the Azhar system,
although he permitted it elsewhere in mixed (sex) company.20
From the late 1990s and early 2000s, satellite television became widespread in Egypt.
Many channels presented religious content. Programs for women included discussions
about women’s status, dress and attitudes. The preachers’ call for “repentance” by
entertainers was in high gear. As some women quit television, other news presenters who
had begun wearing the hijab moved to such channels and acquired audiences.21 Television
and print media also showed the hijab as being fashionable. Fashion magazines and stores
displaying hijab fashions were popular. This was also true in the broader Islamic world.
The UK fashion magazine Hijab Fashion and the Hijab Fashion Week gained attention.
Model Halima Aden appeared in hijab on the covers of Vogue Arabia and British Vogue.
The niqab remained somewhat contested though supported by salafi women and men.
In 1993, I returned to Cairo from Damascus (which underwent a reveiling trend some
years later than Cairo’s). The increase in both the hijab and niqab within just a few years
was remarkable. The area of Imbaba was full of niqab-​wearers and its Islamists declared

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it their turf. It had to be forcibly subdued by authorities, a confrontation that was parallel
to later clashes with extreme militants in other parts of the Islamic world.
In 1996, I returned to Syria again and moved to Digla, where my neighbor wore niqab.
Though a ban on niqab had been announced, it was enacted on individuals only on entry
to specific places. Banned on campuses in 1994, the government often did not enforce the
ban. At Cairo University, attended by many Islamists, female students were checked by
female guards and then permitted entry.

Repenting of Entertainers (Visible Unveiled Women)

Cairo is a hub for Arabic music and entertainment. Nightclubs were created from the
1880s in the city. Entertainment spaces in leading hotels attracted tourists (usually Arab)
as well as Egyptians. For many years, mawalid (festivals for Islam’s saints) and weddings
were considered incomplete without music and dancing.
Since the 1980s, religious figures have exhorted female entertainers to cease singing,
dancing and acting. They should “repent”, retire and adopt hijab.22 Many did so. Others
continued working at night, removing the hijab and covered dress styles they wore during
the day. Nightclubs where they worked disallowed women wearing hijab or niqab to
attend, and “covered women” singers could not sit onstage.23 Previously, entertainers
earned income from wedding performances and had not relied on nightclub work. The
wedding circuits began to evaporate24 with the advent of DJ-​run parties, and, earlier, with
the troupes of male dancers who were hired in place of females.

The Growth of Salafism

Whereas Cairo University had been an incubator for reveiling, the American University
in Cairo was an elite haven. A third-​year AUC student, Heba El-​Shebrawy, adopted
the niqab in 2000, but the AUC forbade it for the semester starting in 2001, citing the
university’s liberal values. El-​Shebrawy, however, was supported by a petition signed
by 1,500 students.25 That year, a lower court issued a ruling that allowed niqab-​wearing
students into the university, so long as they submitted to a security check. In 2007, Iman
al-​Zainy, who was not an AUC student but held the AUC library ID card, was refused
entry due to her niqab. Later, A higher court upheld the 2001 ruling.26 In 2017, the AUC
again attempted to ban the niqab, but then relented.
Andreas Jacobs estimated 3 to 5% of women wore niqab in 2010, while admitting no
accurate figures existed.27 This seems a low estimate to me for that year. He concedes
that women working in banks or other businesses removed their niqab while commuting
to work, suggesting a higher numbers of niqab-​wearers. He attributes the situation to a
number of reasons such as (a) religious commitment [Islam requires niqab], (b) pressure
of family or environment, (c) avoidance of sexual harassment and (d) non-​conformism
[because much of the political and security establishments disapproved of the niqab].
Richard Gauvain studied Salafism as practiced in certain Cairene neighborhoods, Shubra
and Rud al-​Farag from 2006 to 2009, and emphasizes its focus on rituals. According
to Iris Colman’s study of salafi women in Tunis, Salafist female practitioners include
activists and quietists.28 Colman and Gauvain emphasize the fact that the salafists’ goal is
a purified Islamic state. Neither did Mubarak’s Egypt approve of such a goal, nor was it
representative of Cairo’s general ethos.

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A debate over the relationship of salafi thought, Islamist sentiment and propen-
sities to jihad or violence has emerged. Movements which employed violence for polit-
ical purposes were active in Cairo from the mid to late ’70s, and more so in the 1990s.
Following the 1997 Luxor massacre of 62 tourists, the Gamaʿat Islameya and the Gihad
movements’ leadership negotiated with the government and recanted certain principles
of jihad.29 These movements, including the Ikhwan (the Muslim Brotherhood) and the
salafis, saw new opportunities following the January 25, 2011 revolution.

Hijab post-​Mubarak
With the election of President Mohamed Morsi in June 2012, many women felt their
rights were at stake, especially having undergone vicious attacks at public demonstrations
without meaningful recourse. The anti-​feminist approach of the Freedom and Justice
party to women’s issues like Egypt’s response to international treaties like the CEDAW
and measures intended to diminish female circumcision and sexual harassment worried
supporters of women’ rights. With the new Minister of Culture’s assertions that ballet
was in contradiction with Islamic traditions, artists, writers and performers worried that
stricter Islamic guidelines would impact them. Concerns expressed by Egypt’s Copts
resonated with those of certain liberals and some elements of the military. An imposition
of a more conservative version of Islam was one charge articulated against Morsi by the
petition movement, Tamarrod, which called for his resignation in 2013.

Sexual Harassment
In large public political protests, as in crowded popular occasions such as mawalid,
and on ʿEid al-​Fitr and ʿEid al-​Adha, women reported incidents of sexual harassment
(taharrosh, or taharrosh jinsi), including tearing of clothes, injuries and even rape. Men
would encircle a victim and prevent others from reaching out to her. Five hundred cases
of harassment were documented between June 2012 and June 2014,30 and doubtless many
more went undocumented. Incidents of sexual harassment by single or multiple men of
individual women also proliferated. This focused debate on harassment and participation
in demonstrations. Opponents of the demonstrations reviled women who participated.
Men and government officials argued that wearing hijab or niqab protected women from
harassment,31 though it did not. State forces were involved when a young woman wearing
niqab and her male companion were beaten, as well as two women who tried to assist
them. As the woman was kicked and stomped, her ʿabaya opened to reveal a bright
blue bra. A video of this incident went viral. Field Marshal Tantawi, anchor Tawfiq
Okasha and various Islamist figures mocked the victim, accusing her of enacting a publi-
city stunt.32 Writer Mona Eltahawy was physically and sexually assaulted by the Central
Security Forces in 2015.33 Despite condemnations of sexual harassment, it has continued
in incidents too numerous to list. In October 2020, Mariam Mohammed, a veiled young
woman, was pursued, harassed and killed by a group of men in Maʿadi who ran her over
with their vehicle. Excuses were made that the men aimed to rob her, but comments on
social media indicated harassment.34
Women did not always report harassment because the authorities did not pursue
perpetrators, or because their own families would blame them if they did. However, when
such attacks were caught on video or resulted in violence, they could no more be denied.

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Women in my initial study did not say they wore hijab to avoid harassment. Since, women
have admitted they do so, and public harassment of women has been acknowledged in
much of the Islamic world.
Certain questions persist. Why would women favor the hijab, if they were not forced to
wear it (as is the case in Iran) and if it does not necessarily indicate political support for
social or political Islamists? Do women choose to restrict their public roles? Or have they
been, instead, utilizing the hijab to allow for broadened public participation, to avoid
harassment, or to declare their Muslim identity? The latter appears to be a very salient
reason in Cairo, a metropolis populated by Muslims with a range of religious affiliations
and political attitudes in addition to non-​Muslims. Cairenes have sensed the relevance
of reveiling in the broader Islamic world, asserting the city’s identification within it. This
persisted despite many assertions that “Egyptian Islam” is more open, tolerant and less
identified with international salafization.
Salafi attitudes and worldviews are not widely embraced or admired in Cairo. Some
complained about increasing religious conservatism and hyper-​religious attitudes. One
male noted the hypocrisy of males who insist their wives cover, but who enjoy seeing
beautiful, uncovered women on television. Some signaled a sense of resignation to hijab-​
wearing as a norm.

Unveiled Women Report Targeting

Contemporary views on the hijab and its ubiquity in Cairo diverge. Unveiled women
report being increasingly harassed by men in public. They say that since the number of
veiled women far exceeds that of the unveiled, they are at a disadvantage. They note that
while they support the rights of other women to wear hijab, the muhajabat (veiled) do
not support their rights to go without it. Proof that social pressure to veil exists is in the
numbers of women who wear hijab exclusively, while outside their homes. For instance,
some non-​Muslim women working as babysitters and servants wear it while commuting
to their employers. Unveiled Muslim women have experienced oral slurs about their
morals, or humiliating accusations of being “Christian”. Coptic women have often been
attacked (not only for being without hijab). In one instance aboard the underground
metro a woman’s hair was cut, in another a woman was killed, and a 72-​year-​old woman
in Upper Egypt was stripped naked and dragged through a village’s alleys.

Harassment or Exclusion of Women Wearing Hijab

Increasing numbers of women who wear hijab or niqab, or the burkini (a covered
swimming suit) at beach resorts, have complained of more perceived pressure against, or
interference with, their dress choices. They reported being denied entry into restaurants,
nightclubs or swimming pools in hotels. One claimed it is an “anti-​hijab era.” Another
stated it was easier to live in London wearing hijab than in Egypt. One woman said,
“The problem is that hijab has become subconsciously categorized as ‘low class’, and,
hence, it is banned in places that cater exclusively for the high class … who speak English
and wear revealing garments”.35 Women now call to check the rules prior to an outing.
A woman shared her experience of being told “no hijab and no pets allowed” at the
beach.36 The Lemon Tree restaurant manager said the owners did not think restaurants
were “appropriate for veiled women after 8 pm”. The Kempinski hotel would not admit
women with hijab in the bar.37 The Cairo Jazz Club asked scarf-​wearing women to take it

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off upon entry.38 The policy was explained vaguely in a Cairo club as a “no-​hat” rule, also
meaning “no headscarf ”.39 Such spaces have become openly anti-​hijab. Management-​
imposed rules represent an effort to provide an Islamist-​free or Islam-​free atmosphere.
While women are not wearing hijab to support the Ikhwan, an uncomfortable association
still operates in the public consciousness because of the Islamist goal of adoption of
modest dress.
In the past, certain women would unveil to enter establishments barring the hijab,
but now some women don’t want to compromise. A perception exists that those who
don’t wear hijab are intolerant of those who do, the flip side of intolerance described by
unveiled women. Women must either speak up or endure being asked to leave, which is
humiliating to them. A Facebook page called Hijab Racism documented incidents like
these.40 Social media users also started the #MyChoice campaign in May 2018 to provide
empowering social support to women wearing hijab.

Social Media Encouraging Hijab

A Surviving Hijab Facebook group was established in 2016, with a large membership,
mostly but not entirely Egyptian. It provides a vehicle for women and girls to proclaim
the virtue and beauty of covering, encourage each other to wear hijab and not give it
up. Posts show “my second day of hijab”, “ten years of hijab”, etc., and also document
women before they had adopted hijab, or after they began wearing long full dresses
instead of trousers or jeans. It evinces the internationalism of the veiling movement. Its
mission is to convince women of the worthiness of hijab, expressing a da‘wah (call) for
veiling. Women and girls wearing niqab are also members. They state the age at which
they began wearing niqab. A 15-​year-​old wrote that she had been wearing it for four and
half years. Was an 11-​year old sufficiently mature to make this decision? Because this girl
expressed some doubts about wearing niqab, other list members reassured her that she
could remove it, as hijab was sufficient; others said that she would receive divine blessings
for wearing it.41

Bans and Requirements

Under al-​Sisi government, women working in Cairo University’s hospitals have been
prohibited from wearing niqab. The AUC unsuccessfully tried to bar the niqab, as was
mentioned above. The governmental stance on niqab’s legality wavers, as salafists either
support or do not challenge the government.
The hijab is described in and outside Egypt by certain Muslim authorities or sources
as a requirement of a Muslim woman. It is not presented as a personal choice, as many
who wear it claim. Online Egyptian religious sources state that a husband can and should
demand that his wife wear hijab, and if she refuses, he has the right to punish her. A recent
case was posted by a woman who complained that her husband wanted her to drop the
hijab, and she was advised that he had no right to make this demand.42

Hijab Adoption During Ramadan

Many young women now adopt hijab during the holy month of Ramadan. This tem-
porary veiling expresses a transitory desire to signal piety. As many as 30% of young
Cairene women temporarily veil,43 having shopped for scarves during Shaʿban.44 Others

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Sherifa Zuhur

wear a more conservative version of hijab than their usual style. Nervana Saad Aly notes
that young women regard Ramadan fasting as an opportunity to diet and improve their
figures45 (contradicting the pious view of fasting which has nothing to do with dieting)
even though they typically cease swimming and activities which require sportswear
during Ramadan. They hope to look “good” and be unveiled (after Ramadan) to find a
marriage partner.

Anti-​Hijab or Deveiling
From 2013, the media suggested women were beginning to cast off their veils in Egypt.
This theme partly relates to the ousting and criminalization of the Muslim Brotherhood,
and assumptions that al-​Sisi government represented social reform. However, no statis-
tical evidence substantiates deveiling as a trend. Possibly other international deveiling
movements, like the anti-​headscarf movement in Iran since 2018, situate it in the media.
Post-​revolutionary social media circulated photographs of Egyptian women in the 1950s
and 1960s wearing shorter skirts, revealing their hair and their arms in public. Yet, this
can be explained as some sort of nostalgia for the past, rather than real support for
deveiling.
As suggested earlier, women face criticism if they give up veiling. In 2018, actress
Hala Shiha, who had quit acting and put on the hijab 13 years earlier, and then the niqab,
announced her return to acting. She posted photos of herself without hijab, describing
her choice as a “personal decision”. Islamists were horrified. Preacher Sameh ʿAbdel-​
Hameed implied that though previously a role model, “now she failed a large audience
of young girls who followed her”. Khadija Khairat al-​Shater, daughter of a Muslim
Brotherhood leader, urged Shiha to reappear in hijab, writing, “Today, the rumors
that you took off your hijab have slaughtered me with a blunt knife”.46 Other actresses
dropped the hijab, like Shaheenaz, Sawsan Badr, Ghada ʿAdel, Monaliza, ʿAbir Sabri,
Shahira and Suheir Ramzi. Consider too actresses who do not normally wear hijab in
their daily life are cast as hijab-​wearers in films or television series to reflect the current
conception of Egyptian society.
Dena Anwar’s book, Those Taking off the Hijab: The Silent Revolution, garnered sub-
stantial local interest. It resulted in threats made against her by Islamists and efforts at
book-​banning. Anwar then began advocating women’s right to wear what they wish,
especially short (knee-​length) dresses and shorts.47
A recent news story recounted three women’s experiences of deveiling. Each grappled
with anger, shock or distress of others. One woman’s parents disowned her. Another’s
family members worried she had lost her religious beliefs.48
In September 2020, a television presenter, Radwa El-​Sherbiny (who does not wear hijab
herself), sparked much debate and criticism when she said on air that women who wear
hijab are “100,000 times better” than those who do not.49 Social media intensely amplifies
such controversy. The controversy may also be due to pro-​government Egyptians’ sense
that external media is highly critical of them and support the normalization of the hijab.

Enforced Hijab
Recent evidence suggests that certain Egyptian schools force students to wear hijab. Lamia
Loutfi was shocked by the intransigence of her daughter’s school (located in Sharqeya),
and discovered the schools had compelled other girls, including Christian students, to

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The Normalization of Hijab: Islamic Reveiling in Cairo

wear the hijab. She filed a complaint. “They told me, ‘Take whatever measures you want.
We will not allow the girl to enter the school without hijab. These are our conditions’ ”,
Loutfi said.50 Loutfi works for the New Woman Foundation in Cairo. The Foundation’s
mission of aiding female victims of violence and discrimination has led it to pursue
gender discrimination as being unconstitutional. On social media, the Egyptian public
responded to this dispute with the Arabic hashtag al-​ijbar ‘ala al-​hijab fi al-​madaris#
(Enforcing hijab at schools).
The National Council for Women filed a complaint and circulated a petition against
enforced hijab. Minister Tarek Shawki claimed to oppose enforcement of hijab, but
asserted that this was an individual incident.51 Yet, reports on social media proved this
was no individual incident as he claimed. However, the parents of other children forced
to veil decided not to protest, because they worried about how school officials would treat
their daughters.
Enforced veiling represents a captivity narrative. Deveiling represents a sort of lib-
eration theology or civilizing strategy once imposed on women traveling from Cairo or
Libya to Italy, where they were forced to remove their veils and outer wraps upon leaving
the boats in early decades of the twentieth century. We should remember that the inter-
national feminist movement applauded women’s voluntary discarding of the “veil”. This
sentiment is still existent. In the 40-​something years since reveiling began in Egypt, the
enlarged presence of women wearing hijab or niqab in European capitals has caused con-
troversy. Thus, ideas that reversal might occur under President al-​Sisi were attractive
to some.

The Status Quo and Conclusion

Most people I consulted doubt hijab-​wearing patterns in Cairo will change any time
soon. Those not in favor of hijab being a norm suggest that Egyptians’ increasing religi-
osity was mainly a strategy for managing distress, and the tough economic situation.52
These arguments are similar to ones I encountered decades ago –​a semi-​Weberian argu-
ment about anomie or economic distress creating more support for religious and cultural
adherence. They also emphasize the hijab as an expression of the popular (lower) classes,
and that since they adopted hijab, they will retain it.
Those who favor the hijab argue with a different tone. They regard the hijab’s near-​
ubiquity as a positive advent. As Cairene, Egyptian and Muslim expressions of iden-
tity, the hijab has now had a fairly long tenure in sociological terms. It is a factor in
the re-​centering of Cairo in the Islamic world, like other symbols, al-​Azhar, the city’s
Islamic architecture and polarization over Islam’s role in public life. As the hijab has
been disassociated from political symbolism, it should not (according to its supporters)
threaten others.
Both the hijab and the niqab are associated with demonstrations of piety, and more
segregation from (or less interaction with) men. Some of the Cairene women Saʿd ʿAly
studied also mentioned their preference for female-​only cafès.53 Other women wish to be
treated politely, with freedom to wear hijab or niqab, but in mixed settings.
The current presence of certain hijab-​free spaces is indicative of perceptions of veiling
as threatening commercial spaces, where operators want to restrict visible reminders of
piety. It seems Cairo’s own multiplicity of views and lifestyles lends itself to this confu-
sion over a symbol which communicates modesty and piety, or the appearance of such
qualities.

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This review of past and present views on the hijab demonstrates that Cairenes may
identify symbols, objects and practices differently over time. What was deemed unusual,
suspect and non-​indigenous is now perceived as ordinary, non-​threatening and local.
Class symbolism attributed to the veil reiterates an association between the popular
classes and religiosity. This explains more about the nature of Cairene social perceptions
in Cairo, than the fate of the hijab. That working women in Cairo wear hijab and yet
continue to be harassed in the streets further attests to the continued controversy over
women’s bodies in public space.

Notes
1 Sh. D. Zuhur (1990) “Self-​Image of Egyptian Women in Oppositionist Islam”, PhD disserta-
tion, University of California, Los Angeles; Sh. D. Zuhur (1992) Revealing Reveiling: Islamist
Gender Ideology in Contemporary Egypt. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.
2 A. Rugh (1986) Reveal and Conceal: Dress in Contemporary Egypt. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse
University Press.
3 The banat al-​balad’s ideas, attitudes and behaviors were described by Sawsan El-​Messiri, Ibn
al-​Balad: An Egyptian Concept of Self-​Identity (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1978).
4 F.E. Guindi (19981) “Veiling Infitah with Muslim Ethic: Egypt’s Contemporary Islamic
Movement”, Social Problems 28(4). El-​Guindi (1999) Veil: Modesty, Privacy, Resistance (Berg
Publishers) did not appear for another 18 years; Elizabeth W. Fernea’s (with Marilyn Gaunt)
A Veiled Revolution. First Run/​Icarus Films, 1982, film concerned women’s participation in
Islamic halaqat, study groups, and suggested women were interested in controlling their own
religious knowledge and narratives.
5 V. Hoffman Ladd (1987) “Polemics on the Modesty and Segregation of Women in Contemporary
Egypt”, International Journal of Middle East Studies 19(1).
6 Y. Haddad (1984) “Islam, Women and Revolution in Twentieth Century Arab Thought”, The
Muslim World 74(3–​4), 158.
7 Sh. Zuhur (1992) Revealing Reveling: Islamist Gender Ideology in Contemporary Egypt. Albany,
NY: State University of New York Press.
8 Z. al-​Ghazali (1982) Ayyam min Hayati. Cairo: Dar al-​Shuruq. see also Zuhur, “Self-​Image of
Egyptian Women in Oppositionist Islam”, 277–​279, where the views of Safinaz Qasim are also
discussed.
9 Z. al-​Ghazali (1980) “Al-​Mar’ah al-​mu’mina wa al-​mar’ah al-​‘usriyah.” al-​Da‘wah.
10 T. Asad (1986) “The Idea of an Anthropology of Islam.” Occasional Papers Series. Washington
DC: Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University. For many years in Cairo,
at the AUC, we had a pedagogical discussion about the meaning of Arab anthropology or
ethnology, and Arab history, which was more and also less inclusive in scope than disciplines
defined by Islam/​Islamic, and Islamic studies.
11 S. Schielke, “Islam”, Cambridge Encyclopedia of Anthropology, managing editor Felix Stein, nd/​
2020, www.ant​hroe​ncyc​lope​dia.com/​entry/​islam#wrap​ped-​cont​ent.
12 A.E. Macleod (1991) Accommodating Protest: Working Women, the New Veiling and Change in
Cairo. New York: Columbia University Press.
13 SS.E.Ibrahim (1980) “Anatomy of Egypt’s Militant Islamist Groups: Methodological Note and
Preliminary Findings”, International Journal of Middle East Studies 12(4).
14 S.E. Ibrahim (1988) “Egypt’s Islamic Activism in the 1980’s”, Third World Quarterly 10(2).
15 K. Jackson and E.M. Turner (2015) “The Meaning of Hijab: Voices of Muslim Women in
Egypt and Yemen”, Journal of International Women’s Studies 16(2), 38 (positively), 37 (less
positively).
16 S. Mahmood (2005) Politics of Piety: The Islamic Revival and the Feminist Subject.
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
17 Among advents I covered in Sherifa Zuhur, “Voices and Silences: Problems in the Study of
Women, Islamism and Islamization.” In Sherifa Zuhur, ed. (2001) Women in the Middle East
and Islamic World. Berkeley; UCIAS and UC Press, and retained at UC Berkeley, GAIA Books,
https://​escho​lars​hip.org/​cont​ent/​qt6​q814​7tq/​qt6​q814​7tq.pdf.

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18 A.M. Tripp (2019) Seeking Legitimacy: Why Arab Autocracies Adopt Women’s Rights.
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
19 Ibid.
20 P. Kenyon (2009) “Veil Ban at Islamic School in Egypt Fuels Debate”, NPR, www.npr.org/​
templa​tes/​story/​story.php?stor​yId=​113888​541.
21 O. Salem (August 17, 2018) “What Westerners Get Wrong about the Hijab”, Washington Post,
www.was​hing​tonp​ost.com/​news/​made-​by-​hist​ory/​wp/​2018/​08/​17/​what-​wes​tern​ers-​get-​
wrong-​about-​the-​hijab/​.
22 K.V. Nieuwkerk (2008) “ ‘Repentant’ Artists in Egypt: Debating Gender, Performing Arts and
Religion”, Contemporary Islam 2, 191–​210. https://​doi.org/​10.1007/​s11​562-​008-​0061-​z.
23 K.E. Zirbel (1999) “Musical Discursions: Spectacle, Experience and Political Economy.”
Ph.D. dissertation, University of Michigan, 156, 158.
24 K.V. Nieuwkerk (2019) Manhood is Not Easy: Egyptian Masculinities through the Life of Sayyid
Henkish. Cairo and New York: American University in Cairo Press, pp. 121, 123.
25 P. Smucker (January 17, 2001) “A Veil Drapes Cairo Campus in Controversy”, Christian Science
Monitor.
26 C. Johnston (June 9, 2007) “Egypt Court Rules Against US University on Face Veil,” Reuters,
www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​egypt-​veil/​egypt-​court-​rules-​agai​nst-​u-​s-​uni​vers​ity-​on-​face-​veil-​
idUSL0​9435​7062​0070​609.
Some media sources confuse the two legal cases concerning niqab at the AUC.
27 A. Jacobs (2010) “Material for Conflicts: Egyptian Row over the Full Face Veil.” Konrad
Adenauer Stiftung. www.jstor.org/​sta​ble/​resr​ep09​982?seq=​3#met​adat​a_​in​fo_​t​ab_​c​onte​nts.
28 R. Gauvain (2013) Salafi Ritual Purity: In the Presence of God. New York: Routledge; I. Kolman
(2016) “Gender Activism in Salafism: A Case Study of Salafi Women in Tunis”, in Francesco
Cavatorta and Fabio Merone, eds. Salafism After the Arab Awakening: Contending with People’s
Power. New York, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 187–​203.
29 S. M, ʻAwwa (2006) al-​Jamaʻah al-​Islamiyah al-​musallahah fi Misr 1974–​2004. Cairo: Maktabat
al-​shuruq al-​dawaliyah.
30 “Circles of Hell: Domestic, Public and State Violence against Women in Egypt”, Amnesty
International, January 2015. www.amn​esty​usa.org/​files/​mde_​12​0042​015.pdf.
31 M. Tadros and Sh. Zuhur (2017) “Why Was She There? Public Violence and the Victimization
of Women in Post-​Revolutionary Egypt”, in Sherifa Zuhur and Marlyn Tadros, Conflicting
Interests in Egypt: Political, Business, Religious, Gender, Popular Culture. Lewiston, NY, and
Lampeter, Wales, The Edwin Mellen Press, pp. 85–​114.
32 R. Mackey (January 19, 2012) “Egypt’s Military Ruler Told Carter Video of Soldiers Stomping
on Woman Was Fake”, The Lede. New York Times; Okasha mocks her here, in his trademark
style, “Tawfiq Okasha: Hamalit sadr al-​fatat al-​munaqqaba mayuh bikini”. Youtube, December
21, 2011. www.yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​gbyI​SY59​_​a4.
33 “Feminist Author Mona Eltahawy Gives Account of Cairo Sexual Harassment”, Daily News
Egypt, August 16, 2015.
34 N. Osman (October 15, 2020) “Outcry over Death of Egyptian Woman Harassed and Run Over
by Group of Men”, Middle East Eye, www.middle​east​eye.net/​news/​egypt-​woman-​kil​led-​haras​
sed-​trigg​ers-​out​cry.
35 D. Aboughazala (June 14, 2018) “The Surprise Place Where Hijab Can Spell Trouble”, BBC
News, www.bbc.com/​news/​world-​mid​dle-​east-​44411​333.
36 N.A. Morsi (July 23, 2020) “The Hijab, the Burkini and the Turban; On Elitism and Policing
Women’s Attire in Egypt”, Egyptian Streets.
37 “Haughty about the Hijab: Women Campaign Against Places that Ban the Veil”, Economist.
com, August 27, 2015, www.econom​ist.com/​mid​dle-​east-​and-​afr​ica/​2015/​08/​27/​haug​hty-​about-​
the-​hijab.
38 Personal interview with A. September 30, 2020.
39 K. Roberts (February 8, 2019) “Cairo Clubs Don’t Forget to Take Off Your ‘Hat’ ”, Egyptian
Streets.
40 “Haughty about the Hijab.”
41 Communications on the Surviving Hijab Facebook group, posted in August to November 2020.
42 “My Husband Wants Me To Take Off My Hjiab. What Should I Do?” Fatwa. Dar al-​Ifta
Massriya. October 22, 2020. www.dar-​ali​fta.org/​fore​ign/​ViewFa​twa.aspx?ID=​6839.

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Sherifa Zuhur

43 N. Aly (2010) “Ramadan Culture in Modern Cairo: Young Females’ Leisure Patterns and the
Politics of Piety, Unity and Authenticity.” PhD thesis, University of Groningen, 39.
44 Ibid, 102.
45 Ibid, 103.
46 Associated Press, “Egyptian Movie Star is Accused of Succumbing to Worldly Temptations as
She Ditches the Hijab and Quits Her Muslim Lifestyle A Decade After Turning Her Back on
Acting”, Mail Online, August 21, 2018.
47 A. Emam (February 17, 2019) “Egyptian Writer’s Life Turns into Ordeal after Penning Book
Against Hijab”, Arab Weekly, https://​theara​bwee​kly.com/​egypt​ian-​writ​ers-​life-​turns-​ord​eal-​
after-​penn​ing-​book-​agai​nst-​hijab.
48 A. Zaineldine (July 10, 2020) “Family, Judgement and Choice: 3 Stories of Egyptian
Ex-​Hijabis”, EgyptianStreets.com.
49 B. Barqawi and M.A. Farouk (September 15, 2020) “Egyptian TV Host’s Comments on Hijab
Spark Debate”, Reuters, www.reut​ers.com/​arti​cle/​us-​egypt-​women-​hijab/​egypt​ian-​tv-​hosts-​
comme​nts-​on-​hijab-​spark-​deb​ate-​probe-​by-​media-​watch​dog-​idUSKB​N266​2S4.
50 “Egyptians Outraged over Some Schools Forcing Students to Wear Hijab”, Al-​Monitor, October
30, 2020, www.al-​moni​tor.com/​pulse/​origin​als/​2020/​10/​egypt-​scho​ols-​force-​girls-​hijab-​activi​sts.
html#ixzz6c​xtFJ​CYK.
51 Ibid.
52 Personal, telephone and electronic communications from June to November 2020.
53 N. Aly, “Ramadan Culture in Modern Cairo”, 94.

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19
INFORMAL CAIRO
The Making of an Urban Fabric

Ahmed M. Soliman

In Egypt, arbitrary urbanization, rapid population growth and the speedy transition
process have increased the spreading of urban informality. It is estimated that Egypt’s
population rose from 72.8 to 94.78 million people between 2006 and 2016, with an
increase of 22.0 million people.1 This gives an annual increase of 2.2 million people.
In 2022, the total population of Egypt reached 105 million people. If this trend of the
population growth rate continues at 1.4%, 1.6% and 1.9% growth rates –​Egypt’s popu-
lation will reach more than 152.08, 162.62 and 179.8 million respectively by the year
2050. Consequently, there will be a need for at least between a half and two-​thirds of
the current urban and rural agglomerations to be added to the Egyptian territory for
meeting both future housing plots and various socioeconomic amenities within the next
30 years. Alternatively, Egypt will need to construct and put into operation around 30
new cities, each to accommodate around 2.5 million people, till the year 2050. Also, if
the current housing policy and planning thoughts remain unchanged, it is expected that
50% of the future urban and rural expansion will spread informally on adjacent agri-
cultural land on the periphery of urban centers. Therefore, the future urban and rural
agglomerations, about 6.5% of the total area of Egypt of 1,002,000 square kilometers,
will likely be informal.
Cairo, the capital and the largest urban agglomeration in Egypt, is called Misr by
Egyptian citizens.2 According to CAMPAS 2016, Cairo has about 9.53 million residents,
while the Cairo Urban Region (CUR)3 accommodates about 19.44 million residents. It is
anticipated that Cairo and the CUR will approach the figure of 15.75 and 37.55 million
inhabitants, respectively, by 2050. The main output of the arbitrary socio-​spatial growth in
Cairo is the production of urban informality and the spreading of the informal economy.
Thus, informal housing is a socio-​spatial manifestation of urban poverty, the duality of
the economy and intra-​city inequality. However, urban informality in Cairo does not
accommodate all of the urban poor, nor are all slum dwellers always poor, but the middle/​
above income classes are squeezed. Nonetheless, housing informality in Cairo, and other
cities in Egypt, is “a site of transitions” reflecting “a dynamic, transactive, transforma-
tive and transmissive space” corresponding to tremendous socio-​economic and political
transitions over time by which the sustainability of the urban fabric of the city has been
affected.4 Urban informality in Cairo relied heavily on illegal land subdivision on the

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-22 303

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Ahmed M. Soliman

fringes of urban areas, accelerated by the shadow economy and also characterized by
social exclusion and deteriorated urban fabric and natural resources through which the
final urban fabric is unsustainable. The chapter forwards two arguments: the first is, to
what extent the integration and interrelation of the modes of informal housing systems
within socio-​economic and political transitions would sustainably accelerate the devel-
opment. The second is, to what extent urban informality as “a site of transitions” would
help in achieving innovations for a sustainable transition process.
After the implementation of the reconciliations law in 2020, the state created a new
taxonomy of informality as “a hybrid formal status” which disregarded what is going on
on the ground. Therefore, this chapter highlights the modes of informal housing systems
and its taxonomies as a tool to guide decision-​makers for formulating a framework to
prepare formalization as a possible way to get out of the bottleneck of the chaotic recon-
ciliation law. The central assumption is that the modes of informal housing systems and
its taxonomies go through long periods of instability and transitions which are followed
by relatively long periods of radical change, and could be integrated with the urban con-
text sustainably through sustainable transitions, to overcome the fragmented situation.
Sustainable transitions are defined as “a strategy to deal with environmental degradation
by stimulating sustainable development as a specific aim of policymaking” and to achieve
the requirements of the Sustainable Development Goals (SDGs).
This chapter applies an empirical methodology to test concepts and patterns known
from theory using new empirical data. Theoretically, there is an entire huge literature
questioning the urban informality in Cairo and the concept of urban sustainability
transitions. Practically, the research examines the linkage between the three modes
of housing informality and urban sustainability transitions, depending on the four
interrelated systemic transitions perspective. The application of theory and practice has
tended to smooth over sustainable transitions of sensitivity in favor of concepts and
practices which are place-​blind and held to be valid in Cairo. This chapter contains
five sections and examines urban informality in Cairo concerning urban sustainability
transitions and draws a framework to tackle informality sustainably.

Urban Informality in Cairo

President Abd Al-​ Fatah El Sisi declared that more than 50% of urban and rural
agglomerations in Egypt are informal (Soliman 2019) which was supported by the
announcement of the Prime Ministry, Mostafa Madbouly, on 9 September 2020.5 On 29
of August 2020, President El Sisi declared that “from now on, the state will not allow for
the spreading of the informal housing development on agricultural land, and if I have
to order the Military to take actions to stop this phenomenon I will do”. President El
Sisi added, “This arbitrary development on agricultural areas is destroying the country
and prevents the sustainability transitions for the current and future generations”. “Why
are we doing this to our country?”, he wondered. “Please do not construct buildings in
this form, it is a ruin for the country, and a destruction of the state”, he added. El Sisi
declared that the state will not allow such arbitrary housing development any more, and
that any future informal housing development will be forbidden. “Enough is enough”
he improvised; “From now on the state will fight this arbitrary informal housing devel-
opment. It is a commitment, a challenge, and an assignment for the government to stop
this phenomenon”.6 Subsequently, temporary law of reconciliation number 17 of 2019
and its amended law number 1 of 2020 took effect starting July 2020 to end in October

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

2020.7 The aim is to certify the informal buildings against fees ranging between 50 and
2000 Egyptian pounds8 per square meter for rural and urban areas, respectively, but
their legal status is still vague. Accordingly, the state will give a legal building license to
violators in the form of de facto recognition. Around 2.0 million violation units are under
the umbrella of this reconciliation by which the state will collect around 40.0 billion
Egyptian pounds. This law will sustain the status quo or laissez-​faire of the informality
without any proper planning policy for its urban fabric, which means the urban infor-
mality morphology will remain as it is. Is there a clear housing policy to fulfill the current
and future housing needs and to readjust the recent reconciliation law? If so, how will the
state secure the necessary funds to do so? Where will these houses be built and by whom?
What are the alternatives to meet the housing needs for the current and future population
by 2050?
The informal housing development is not just to accommodate people, rather it is a
matter for investment and for securing the family finances and offspring. Leilani Farha
stated that “Housing is not only human rights, but is now a means to secure and accu-
mulate wealth rather than a place to live in, to raise a family and thrive within a com-
munity”.9 Till now, the state has not realized the meaning of building informally, nor
does it realize the modes, transformation and taxonomies of urban informality, and the
making of the urban fabric to suit people’s requirements for housing and other amen-
ities. However, the following part traces the transformation process of informal housing
in Cairo and how the urban fabric has formulated itself over time in the hope of gaining
lessons for future interventions.
The appearance of urban informality in Cairo was set more than two thousand years
ago.10 In the modern era, evidence indicated that the appearance of modern urban
informatization in Cairo dated back to the 1900s by the appearance of squatters’ areas in
El Matarya area northeast to the city of Cairo.11 These squatters’ areas accommodated the
workers who came from Upper Egypt for the construction work of the Heliopolis Oasis
which was built by the Belgian Baron Edouard Empain between 1906 and 1929.12 In the
1930s, Farouk, the king of Egypt, gave permission to the border guards (El Hagganah)
to settle at a location, ʿEzbet El Hagganah, at a distance of 4.5 kilometers southeast
from the Cairo city center, so did President Nasser when he permitted El Saʿaida to
settle in Mansheyet Nasser during the construction of Nasr City in 1958. Both areas
became the largest squatters’ areas in Cairo. Since then, urban informality, or what is
called ʿAshwảeyat,13 has been invading Egyptian cities.
As illustrated in Figure19.1, the built-​up area of Cairo was 9,170, 56,370 and 132,000
feddan,14 in the 1920s, 1970s and 2020s, respectively. This explosion of Cairo’s urban
fabric is attributed to several factors discussed elsewhere.15 One of these factors is the
development of urban informality. Many scholars have examined urban informality in
Cairo from different perspectives: physical growth, socioeconomic and political aspects
of change.16 However, sustainability transitions are very rarely touched upon; thus this
chapter is a contribution to trace urban informality transitions in the last seven decades,
and to examine the modes of informal housing systems and their taxonomies as the main
outcome of socioeconomic and political transitions.
Walking around Cairo’s streets, one can see the difference in the overall aesthetics, way
of life, urban fabric and planning when comparing older urban patterns and buildings
to modern ones. This difference is visible between the organized or formal sectors of
the city and unorganized or informal areas surrounding the city. The former constitutes
planned and official sectors, in which planning control and restrictive regulations existed

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Ahmed M. Soliman

Figure 19.1 The built-​up area of Cairo in the 1920s, 1970s, 2000s and 2020s.

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

and where these areas have the privilege of obtaining a good environment and reasonable
services. The latter is characterized by arbitrary informal spatial growth, accommodates
a high proportion of the informal economy and is inhabited by a sector of the society
with their own special way of life. These areas are characterized by overcrowding, densi-
fication, lack of infrastructure, environmental degradation and social ills. Great diversity
in the physical structure of Cairo, between old and new, between rich and poor, between
good and bad environments, between ugliness and beauty, between availability and scar-
city of infrastructure, between various features of everyday life, is present. More cities
in one city is the output, “many Cairos in Cairo”,17 great diversity in socioeconomic and
political life in various sectors of one Cairo.
The urban fabric of most informal settlements in Cairo, and other cities in Egypt,
is built on agricultural land. It has followed the irrigation pattern of agriculture areas
in which the main roads replaced the water bodies and the inner roads followed the
boundary of agricultural subdivisions. Land plots were grouped back to back with a size
of one qirat, according to the agricultural land subdivision to a measurement of feddan..
Since each qirat contains 24 sahim (7.29 square meters), the characteristic width of
streets and many plots is 7.29 meters or some multiple thereof. Large agricultural parcels
(ahwad) are usually subdivided within the pattern of large irrigation canals and drains,
and each large parcel (hoad) must have side reservations for paths and canal cleaning.
Thus, the pattern of the old irrigation system usually defines the main and secondary
streets in an informal housing settlement on formerly agricultural land. Most of these
areas retain the privilege of having some sort of land tenure, but land subdivisions and
construction processes do not have an official building license. It is estimated that from
2011 till 2021, Egypt lost around 90,000 feddans of agricultural land to illegal residential
development,18 giving a loss of agricultural land of 10,000, 28.57 and 1.19 feddans annu-
ally, daily and hourly, respectively.
In 2008, the Informal Settlement Development Fund (ISDF)19 classified informal
housing in Egypt into two categories: unplanned and unsafe areas. The latter has four
subcategories: exposed to life threat, health risk, inappropriate housing conditions and
insecurity of land tenure. The unplanned areas are principally characterized by their
noncompliance with planning and building law number 119 of 2008. As illustrated in
Table 19.1, the number of informal areas in Egypt in 2008 was around 1221 areas with

Table 19.1 Representations of the informal areas in Egypt and CUR.

City/​country No. of people No. of The total No. of The total The total % of the
living in unsafe size of unplanned size of size of total of
informal areas unsafe areas unplanned informal Egypt
areas areas areas areas

Cairo 9,539,673 57 990 58 19,374 20,364 12.66

Giza 8,632,021 30 126 45 15,507 15,633 9.72
Shorbia 2 1,275,037 20 100 18 200 300 0.19
Total CUR 1,944,6731 107 1216 121 35,081 36,297 22.57
The rest of Egypt 75,352,096 244 3290 749 121,219 124,509 77.43
Total Egypt 94,798,827 351 4506 870 156,300 160,806 100

Source: The data are derived from CAPMAS, 2016a, 2016b), and the informal hybridization areas
are calculated by the author based on the declaration of president El Sisi in 2017.

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Ahmed M. Soliman

Figure 19.2 The three modes of informal housing systems (semi-​informal, squatting and
ex-​formal) in Cairo.

a total size of 160,806 feddans, which constitutes 13.5% of the total built-​up area of
Egypt, and accommodates 12.2 million people, which represents 17% of the population
of Egypt. Unsafe areas constitute only 3.5% of the total informal housing areas in
Egypt. As illustrated in Figure 19.2, Cairo contains informal areas of 36,297 feddans
distributed in 228 areas of which unsafe areas occupy 1,216 feddans distributed in 107
areas, while unplanned areas represent 121 areas with a size of 35,081 feddans, a density
over of 250 individual per feddan. However, the informal areas in Cairo accommodate
around 8,441,000 people, representing 43.41% of the total population of Cairo.20 This
classification ignores the complexity of informality taxonomies, and does not emphasize
the process of the transitions of informality. Also, the informal hybridization areas
are completely ignored, as they occupy 36.5% of the total built-​up area of Egypt. The
different taxonomies in some contexts are overlapping and coexisting. The belt of
urban informality and duality of housing in Cairo can be easily seen by walking around

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

Bulaq al-​Dukrour or Imbaba, the “dark side”, and Dokki or El Mohandiseen, “the
bright side”.
The modes of informal housing systems are defined as the output and interlinkage
between the form of building enterprises, market forces, state’s involvement, infrastruc-
ture, the level of a social network and the ways and means used for housing manufacture.
These modes are based on the identification of social relations, methods of construction
and interactions of agents involved in all aspects of housing manufacture.21 These modes
involve the inadvertent violation of regulations, the existence of state agencies which
are barely aware and not much interested; it commonly involves people who, far from
wishing to challenge the state, are eager to keep their activities hidden from it. These
modes categorize informal housing systems into various taxonomies.22 The modes of
informal housing systems are generated by the level of production, reproduction, dis-
tribution and consumption of goods and services. Housing production is defined as a
relationship between the amount of capital and the scale of resources, and the people
involved who organize the basic resources for production, while housing reproduction
reflected the maximum use of a housing plot to increase the vertical and horizontal densi-
fication of a land. Housing consumption is a variable, dependent on the anticipated costs
and benefits of the actions and products required to meet the demand, which includes
the felt needs of the participants and the means they possess and are willing to invest.
Housing distribution constitutes the housing commodities which at a later stage return
as valuable revenue to the consumer, according to housing location, price and the level of
provision of infrastructure within the residential area.
As illustrated in Figure 19.3, Soliman creates a taxonomy of three main housing infor-
mality types in Cairo: semi-​informal, squatting, and hybridization or ex-​formal.23 Each
type has subtypes and variants. Other scholars arrived at a similar classification with slight
variations.24 Relying on the taxonomy of Soliman, and supported with other scholars’
typologies, three approaches to urban informality taxonomy are delineated. Devlin
arrived at two categories: “informality of needs” and the “informality of desires”.25 On

Figure 19.3 The taxonomies of urban informality.

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Ahmed M. Soliman

the other hand, there is a gray area between the two categories which is the informality
as “a blind eye”. Marx and Kelling categorized informality into three main approaches
following how Anglophone researchers have studied the phenomenon in the “Western
world”: informality as a condition, as a law and as a currency.26 Harris proposes five
modes: latent, diffuse, embedded, overt and dominant. The last three constitute neces-
sities, while the first two represent desires and needs, respectively.27
Table 19.2 illustrates the three taxonomies of urban informality in Cairo and is grouped
into three main approaches: a bottom-​up approach (semi-​informal areas), a techno-
cratic approach (squatting areas) and a hybridization liberal approach (ex-​formal areas).
However, these taxonomies reflect informality as desires, as needs and as necessities. They
mirror a condition, a law and as a currency, which represent laissez-​faire, status quo and
a blind eye, respectively. These three approaches are interrelated, overlapped and linked
with each other and are in a continuous transition within the socio-​spatial, economic and
political situation of a given environment. Each has sub-​taxonomies. Each has strength
and weakness parameters, but all under the umbrella of various characteristics and def-
inition of urban informality as “a site of transition”28 rather than as a site of critical
analysis or a temporary transitional phase.29
A first approach is a bottom-​up approach (semi-​informal /​laissez-​faire). It covers six
sub-​taxonomies: desires, best practice, tactical urbanism, law, overt and dominant. It
relies on the freedom of the grassroots to make the main decisions towards their built
environment. It promotes new and creative ways or niche innovations in which urban
users, through informal tactics, can spur and foster urban innovation, creating new urban
fabric by increasing the competitiveness of cities, which contributes to economic devel-
opment. Some scholars have settled on the term informal, but there are countless other
monikers: best practice, tactical urbanism,30 as a law,31 an overt and dominant support.32
Soliman argues that such definition ignores the socioeconomic and political dimensions
of informality, claiming that urban informality is the output of the modes of informal
housing systems of certain illegal activities and/​or commodities in which the capital is the
cornerstone of this process.33 It is a part of a larger “informal” land market where there
are often powerful well-​connected real-​estate interests. Informality as a law is associated
with legal pluralism, which holds that a plurality of legal systems coexists, such as state
law, religious law, indigenous law, customary laws and local conventions. In such a plural
realm the law of the state is not necessarily the dominant one, but the community law is.
There is a differentiation between law in text and law in practice: the latter is applicable
on the ground while the former is applied in courts. Lara-​Hernandez and Melis support
this argument with their claim that the cultural dimension plays a decisive role in how
people make use of spaces according to customary law.34
The second is the technocratic approach (squatting areas /​status quo). It covers
six sub-​typologies: needs, cry and demand, DIY (do-​it-​yourself) urbanism, condition,
latent, and diffuse. It represents informality as everyday authenticity, best practice, and
as a Lefebvrian cry and demand.35 Reflecting that informality as a continuous and trans-
formative condition is the most common way of thinking. The nature of property rights,
planning, infrastructure and level of services might lead to debates about precision and
reliability rather than exploring the reasons why and how they are applied.36 In this case,
the technocratic approach emerges from the practices of categorization by the state and/​
or by planning derived by neoliberalism.
The third is the hybridization or ex-​formal approach (liberal /​a blind eye). It constitutes
six sub-​ typologies: necessities, everyday authenticity, everyday urbanism, currency,

310
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311
Table 19.2 The taxonomy of urban informality, as “a site of transition”, in Cairo.

Main Typology Sub-​typology References Strength Weakness

A-​Bottom-​up A1 Desires Devlin 2018; Marx and The nature of property rights, conventual Converts agricultural areas into
(Semi informal) Kelling 2019; Lydon and planning, local infrastructure, and level illegal housing plots and destroys
(laissez-​faire) Garcia 2015; Soliman of community’s services lead others to agricultural production.
2004b; Harris 2018 intervene.
A2 Best practice Settlers are more aware to adapt their The state is incapable to cope
setting according to their needs with the community-​driven

Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

development
A3 Tactical Defines informality based on the various The adaption of development
urbanism mechanisms that adapted to provide mechanisms depends on the
land plots at an affordable basis place of origin of the settlers,
which encourage rural-​urban
immigration.
A4 Law Settlers have enough knowledge to The residents transfer the law in
311

overcome the law through spiritual
law instead of law in the text by which
the development process at a high rate
of speed.
A5 Covert It spreads urban informality through
the cooperation between official
institutions and community
A6 Dominant Social consolidation and social networks
basis are playing an important role in
formulating the informality
text into law in practice or soft
law to overcome their legal
conflicts, and this makes a huge
dispute over the legality of
tenure
The state under certain
circumstances supports
informality and in another
prevents this phenomenon.
The official institution cannot
cope with the speed of the
development process of urban
informality.
(continued)

Table 19.2 Cont.
Main Typology Sub-​typology References Strength
B-​Technocratic B1 Needs Devlin 2018; Marx and It promotes new and creative ways
(squatting; Status Kelling 2019; Soliman in which urban users through
quo) 2004a; UN-​Habitat informal tactics can spur and foster
2003; ILO 1972; urban innovation by increasing
Harris 2018; Lara-​ the competitiveness of cities that
Hernandez and Melis contributes to economic development.
2018; Lefebvre 1968
B2 Cry & Encouraging citizens to appropriate
demand the urban realm through creative
and informal practices in providing
housing at the lost cost.
B3 DIY A conceptualization of the politics for
312
urbanism encouraging self-​help production
as the cheapest and speedy way for
providing housing at the lowest cost.
B4 Condition Allows settlers to act free to provide
housing and implies for those living
‘in it’ and, in the best cases, to
empower them in their settings.
B5 Latent Latency exists everywhere and on an
almost limitless range of issues; after
all, there are no restraints on the
character of urban development at
the poles
B6 Diffuse The status of the status quo policy of
regulation and policy mattered, and
in a variety of ways, including a range
of land use, building, and occupancy
regulations.
newgenrtpdf
312
Weakness
Such informal uses vary from
fulfilling basic needs like
housing, ass use-​value, to more
leisurely activities like artistic
activities.
governments have cleared some
informal areas, rehousing a
few residents, while trying to
Ahmed M. Soliman
tame and regulate others, but to
limited effect
Land as a main component of
housing considers the main
challenge for such a process.
Arbitrary conditions imposed
upon differential spaces in the
urban context might destroy the
built environment.
The shadow of policy either with
international donors or local
institutions played an important
role in the formulation of urban
informality.
Planners and other municipal
officials often turn a blind eye
to sustain the status quo of the
situation. Such a strategy can
itself become almost formal.

C-​Hybridization or C1 Necessities Devlin 2018; Marx and It emerges from the practices of
ex-​formal Kelling 2019; Soliman categorization by the state and/​or
Liberal (A Blind 2004a; Harris 2018 planning derived by the neoliberalism.
Eye)
C2 Everyday Endeavours to produce, only that it
urbanism should be constructed in a bottom-​up,
citizen-​driven manner.
C3 Currency Takes a relational perspective,
emphasizing flux, changes, and
dynamic conditions, while still
recognizing regularity as a river force
for development.
C4 Embedded Collective activity often produces
cooperation among settlers in an
organized way, commonly within a
particular social group.
313
C5 Authenticity The existing areas reflect the real social
struggle for shelters.
C6 Overt Some practices may remain invisible to the
state for years or even decades.
Source: adapted from Soliman, 2021; Devlin 2018; Marx and Kelling 2019; Lara-​Hernandez and Melis 2018; Harris 2018; Soliman 2004b.
newgenrtpdf
313
The status quo might encourage
further informal development
on the periphery of cities.
Unplanned urbanism causes
further deterioration of the built
environment.
The local dynamics and relations
of the context and especially
Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric
place towards informality
rather than those coming from
neoliberal impulses.
In areas with various sects or with
various nationalisms prevent the
collective driven process.
Some politicians ignore the
reality of the existence of the
informality and might lead to
further informality.
The invisibility of informality might
encourage newcomers to follow
suit.
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Ahmed M. Soliman

embedded and covert. More vernacular or authentic urbanism is informed not by abstract
plans, but rather by everyday use, use and exchange value, and practice, although these
artisans engage in profuse commercial activity, which extends across almost all economic
activities. An example is extending housing in Cairo.37 This approach reflects the invest-
ment of existing buildings/​units for extra spaces free of charge. It refers to contexts that
might be ordinarily described as “informal”, while others see it as currency. However,
this approach is not focused only on informality, but also on other activities and con-
suming spaces that are essential for how the cities work, and on an understanding of
why the residents follow these activities.38 The way of knowing “informality as currency”
exists because it acknowledges that actors in the housing field consider some activities,
people or spaces as “informal” and that this consideration has a meaningful social and
economic effect –​it has a socio-​political “currency” that can be mobilized.39 Thus, infor-
mality as currency approaches the topic with sufficient nuance to understand the social
effect of how we (as in, everyone) recognize and interpret our practices and those of
others, without buying into these interpretations.
To sum up, urban informality in Cairo –​as a site of transition –​is a transformative
process, changing at various times and spaces, and echoes. There are three interlinked
and correlated taxonomies: laissez-​faire, status quo and a blind eye. Urban informality
as laissez-​faire reflects desires, best practice, tactical urbanism, and usually obeying the
law in certain circumstances, and has the privilege of having overt support from the state.
It represents upper and middle classes who speculate in real estate to gaining a high
profit. Urban informality as a status quo mirrors needs, cry and demand, DIY urbanism,
condition, latent, diffuse, and does so under certain conditions. It is carried out by the
lowest strata of the society and they are considered the bottom of Egypt’s social pyramid.
Urban informality as a blind eye reproduces everyday authenticity, everyday urbanism,
currency, embedded, authenticity and/​or the state’s covert role. A blind eye taxonomy
combines formal and informal status, in which it might begin formally, and over time
change its category into informality and vice versa. In general, various actors influence
and facilitate the transitions of housing informality development –​including landowners,
private developers, informal service suppliers (such as brokers and contractors), state
agencies and formal-​sector institutions (such as banks). In the field of delivering goods, it
is necessary to distinguish between the responsibility for “provision”, which might be the
government’s concern, and “production/​reproduction”, which might be done through
the social networks or the grassroots.40 While the provision of services is the sole respon-
sibility of the state, the grassroots might provide labor force and social amenities to fulfill
their needs.

Urban Sustainable Transitions

Urban sustainability transitions introduced in 2001 are defined by many scholars as
system innovations that influence geographical settings through shifts of certain socio-​
technical, economic, technical and political configurations into another on a specific
location (international, national and local).41 The concept of transition has been studied
in several disciplines, e.g. in biology and population dynamics, in economics, in sociology,
in political science, in science and technology studies and systems sciences,42 but very
rarely are socio-​spatial transitions touched upon.43
In the Cairo case, the urban informality transitions change over time due to
transitions in the performance of markets, user practices, policy, and cultural discourses

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

and governing institutions. The interlinkage between the three pillars of capital, society
and state is determined by the level of the formulation, the dynamics and patterns of
urban informality transitions.44 Accordingly, the urban informality transitions cannot be
addressed by incremental improvements or a political decision, but rather require con-
tinuous shifts to new kinds of systems, policies or innovations to form sustainable urban
spaces in cities.45 It is changing the behavior of humans, organizing natural resources,
and formulating a sustainable built environment for meeting the needs of the current and
future population.
Sustainability transitions are long-​term, multi-​dimensional, nonlinear and funda-
mental transformation processes through which guidance and governance often play a
particular role. It is a shift from a certain mode of sociotechnical system to another
in a sustainable way,46 or a shift from a certain socio-​spatial setting to another. Thus,
a transition is a gradual, continuous process of change where the basic character of
society (or a complex sub-​system of society) transforms itself, in which the outcome is a
new ingredient or element or innovations of production and consumption that help to
achieve sustainable development. The multi-​level perspective (MLP) is instrumental in
coining the notion of sociotechnical transitions and has three levels of a sociotechnical
niche: (micro), structure regime (meso) and a sociotechnical landscape (macro), in which
it addresses how to make sense of transitions when facing contemporary and future
transformative stages (meshwork).
Thus, urban informality transitions are understood as involving a broad range of
actors, a broad range of forces, an extensive range of capital, and as involving “shifts
in power” in which “a fundamental change in structure (e.g. organizations, institutions),
in culture (e.g. norms, behavior, way of life), in economic changes, and practices (e.g.
routines, skills)” flourishes. Urban informality transitions in Cairo are societal processes
of fundamental change in the society, state, capital and practices of a societal system in
which the actors’ outcomes of the continuous change of practices and the interactions of
practices and developments take place at different levels.47 The state’s institutions shape
transition policies, and these transitions shape the policies’ processes.
More clarification of transitions is navigated by Leftwich as all the activities of co-​
operation and conflict, within and between societies, whereby the human species go
about organizing the use, consumption, production/​reproduction and distribution of
human, natural and other resources in the production, reproduction and consumption
of its biological and social life.48 However, transitions are processes of “degradation” and
“breakdown” versus processes of “build-​up” and “innovation” in which the three pillars
are operated and urban informality transfers its taxonomies and articulates the modes
of the informal housing system. Sustainability transition studies propose the problems
persisting over time which require a fundamental change in handling the problem-​solving
(niches) techniques, ways of organizing (regimes) and in the ways of doing (landscape)
to allow for sustainable solutions to be considered and taken over. The variation of the
modes of informal housing systems and their taxonomies provide a wide spectrum for
people who are seeking housing. Learning to do or doing by learning is a vital element to
avoid misinterpretation of urban informality transitions.
Land is the main component of the modes of housing informality which reflect the
relationship between the interests, strategies, state, landowners and actions of agents
involved in land development, through which values and prices govern or structure the
development decisions. Land transition management –​as a transformative market –​
means to support both governance capacities of cities as well as landowners to adopt

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Ahmed M. Soliman

their destiny. It seeks to provide impulses for systemic change by creating an environment
for developing innovative ideas and practices and for empowering actors to develop tran-
sition experiments of the land delivery system. However, the transition land management
processes have activated the participation of citizens, politicians, professionals, CBOs
and NGOs, which are coming to realize and share the co-​created socioeconomic transi-
tion agenda and are enabling sustainable transitions. These debates can be detected in the
critique of legalist approaches49 and the denial of dualist representations, and challenge
the separation of formal and informal spheres, or recognition of changing structural
dynamics influencing the redefinition of taxonomies of the formal and informal, and
readjust the implementation of the reconciliation law.
The failure of urban informality sustainability transitions implies that it is inevitable
in the longer term that destabilization and systemic change will happen, and that proper
systemic change, or practical housing policy, is needed. Therefore, the process of urban
informality transitions is transformative or a shift (positively or negatively) from a cer-
tain situation (socio-​spatial fabric) or a composition or ingredients of socioeconomic
and political to another. It is argued (Loorbach et al. 2017) that the main driver behind
the emergence of transitions research had been the search for new insights and ideas
to understand how to steer clear of unsustainability lock-​in and how to mobilize and
empower disruptive innovations and transformative capacity from the system toward
desirable sustainability transitions.50 Also, the countless variables, certainties and
uncertainties, multiple changes in sociotechnical systems, land delivery system, socio-​
spatial fabric and multi-​actor interactions between social groups, a “radical” change
in terms of scope of change, and periods that witness transitions are considered as
main impediments to explain how urban informality transitions unfold, fold and how
to govern them.51 Thus, it required a clear and specific urban direction to compromise
between the three pillars and theory and practice of the modes of housing systems of
production, reproduction, distribution and consumption to accomplish a sustainable
urban informality transition in a given area.

Urban Informality Sustainable Transitions in Cairo

There is an immediate need for moving on from the historical experience of the Cairo
case in the making of urban informality transitions to explain the key elements of the
modes of the informal housing system and to be more explicit on how to develop policy-​
relevant scenarios based on interdisciplinary knowledge generated by transitions scholars.
However, the sustainability transitions approach offers conceptual frames for better
understanding of the dynamics of urban informality transitions and the co-​evolution
of the different societal subsystems. Most transitions studies do not examine the repro-
duction and distribution of goods and services and are focused only on production and
consumption.52
Urban informality transitions in Cairo are the outcome of chaotic urbanization
associated with capital –​whatever the amount, sources and sorts, formally or informally.
It is generated by urban regimes (public and private, whatever their legal form and eco-
nomic status), and its path-​dependency, utilizing the main collectives resources within
the market (land, labor, material, etc., as well as the legislative process which controls the
operation of these resources) in facilitating and controlling land provision for housing
and economics activities. It is interacting and integrating within the desires of the
grassroots, creating new planning innovations, as sociotechnical niches, for socio-​spatial

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

struggling for producing, reproducing, distributing and consuming goods and services at
a reasonable cost, in a reasonable time and in a sustainable way. It is a result of changing
landscape pressures (informal urbanization, migration, climate change, demographic
changes, digitalization …) emerging new visions, modes and practices.
The three interrelated systemic transitions of the sociotechnical, the socioecological
and the socioeconomic share a similar interest in the nonlinear process of transitions, but
came from different disciplinary and epistemological backgrounds and brought different
types of insights and methods to sustainability transitions research.53 On the other hand,
the three systemic transitions are reliant on stable and well-​established societies of the
Global North and do not recognize the transformation of the rapid informal socio-​
spatial growth of cities of the Global South. Egypt is perceived as having weaker state
apparatus, less efficient bureaucracies, higher levels of political and economic instability,
less transparency in legal proceedings and enforcement of legal frameworks, and rela-
tively high levels of economic and social inequality. It is typically characterized by less
advanced industrial processes, chaotic land-​use patterns and excessive urban sprawl, reli-
ance on extended family ties and clientelism, and employment in the informal sector.
Therefore, in practice urban informality in Cairo has been transformed by radical
transitions and tensions in the socioeconomic, socio-​spatial and political context as
well as by the effect of improper development policies, of regularization or “integra-
tion” imposed or encouraged by the state. Thus, Cairo’s urban informality transitions
are non-​linear processes, through which the production and reproduction of dialogue
or interactions between role-​making (regime) and game-​players (niche), are formulated.
Additionally, there are urgent needs for methods and tools for commodity distribu-
tion, while the consumption is taken in two forms: use values or exchange values, which
depend on the status of the residents’ socioeconomic situation. However, players involved
in transitions don’t need to be attached to only one level, e.g. regime actors or niche
actors, since in reality actors could engage in all levels, and niche could integrate with the
regime and vice versa.54
An attempt is made to include socio-​spatial transitions as the fourth approach to
systematic transitions and to link it with the modes of informal housing and its taxon-
omies to subsume the geographical transitions as the main component that influences
the shape and the pattern of urban informality in Cairo. All changes in chaotic land-​
use patterns and excessive urban sprawl are crucial for modern economies and societies
to achieve end-​use functions such as residential development, mobility and land devel-
opment, etc. All these activities are configured in organizational chains that represent
different subsystems of the urban fabric. These subsystems injected the production,
reproduction, distribution and consumption of various commodities or activities, and
are linked and interrelated to capital, state power, empowerment of the grassroots, and
market mechanisms. The four modes of informal housing systems are the determination
of dominant areas of the four systematic transitions by which the three taxonomies
overlap and coexist.
Emphasizing earlier work performed by Truffer et al.,55 three main dimensions of the
geography of transitions are reached: socio-​spatial embedding with sociotechnical and
issues of power. Furthermore, the socio-​spatial, sociotechnical and power transitions
(SSSPT) are disclosed in a two-​fold way. First, SSSPT focuses precisely on the kinds of
trans-​boundary production/​reproduction, distribution and consumption of goods and
services such as land, mobility and housing generation. Second, it offers a clear frame-
work for understanding the dynamics of changes arising from the interactions of the

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Ahmed M. Soliman

four systematic transitions with drivers of change of socio-​spatial context at the macro
(landscape), meso (regime) and micro (niche) levels. By doing so, it provides a foundation
for mapping out the implications for policy intervention in transitions, as well as linking
and connecting with various aspects of transitions (political, capital, biodiversity, nat-
ural resources, etc.). Given this, the discussion draws on the different frames of the four
systemic transitions (sociotechnical, socioecological, socioeconomic and socio-​spatial
transitions); for example, in highlighting themes such as interactions between systems,
social practices, market-​based instruments and the modes of informal housing and its
taxonomies.
Withal, the SSSPT transitions aim to respond to the deficiencies, thus
complementing the empowerment of the grassroots by digging into its historical
transitions to explore how these shifts take place, providing insights into contemporary
social sustainability issues.56 It relies on responding to the four questions; what are the
people willing to do, what are they prepared to do, what do they do, and what can they do.
A more detailed definition is that an SSSPT is: “a gradual, continuous, process of the
four systemic transitions, and a rapid process in changing the natural resources into other
uses”. In a simple term, the SSSPT is looking for a retrospect of the four systematic
transitions and prospects for it in a sustainable way in which the everyday life of citizens
can be shaped and created, “a new way of life”57 or “a site of transitions”. This trans-
formation has a great impact on shaping the built environment, socially, economically
and politically, in which it is absorbing the need for rapid population growth and meeting
the speedy urbanization process. There are various diverse lock-​ins, lock-​outs and sys-
temic interactions that can achieve the rapid and transformative change in the SSSPT
systems. One of them is the appropriate regularity collective framework of land to suit
the requirements of the low-​income groups to meet the increasing demand for housing
plots in Cairo, and in Egypt as a whole.

Conclusions
It is valuable to learn from the past to avoid problems in the future. Going back to the
mid-​50s, the state of Egypt initiated an ambitious plan to enlarge the city of Cairo
by adjusting agricultural areas. They did so not taking into consideration either the
appearance of the duality of the land market, or the increasing demand for housing.
Therefore, due to the nationalization policy and agricultural land reforms in the 1950s
and 1960s, the agricultural land fragmented into small plots, which were invaded by
speculators and illegally sub-​divided without planning regulation. This is a typical model
that continued to operate in Cairo and in most Egyptian cities. Also, the recent law of
reconciliation will lead to fragmentation of land tenure of urban areas, which will cause
new conflicts to arise among the violators, original landowners and the state.
As soon as new schemes/​regulations or state-​planning projects were implemented, new
urban informality was backed by the state, as “political informality” emerged. It is often
the power of the state that determines what is informal and what is not, as happened on
introducing the reconciliation law number 17 of 2019. This contemplates that informality
is not an unregulated domain but rather structured through various forms of extra-​
legal, social and discursive regulation. Throughout the growth of Cairo, the invasion of
agricultural areas started formally by the state and continued informally by the private
developers, speculators and people in need of housing plots. On top of that, transforming
peri-​urban areas to urban informality is not only for housing but it is a way to formulate

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Informal Cairo: The Making of an Urban Fabric

“new spaces in the city within the city” and “to accumulate wealth” to squeeze the
growing population where various strata of the society find their way out to repro-
duce a reasonable land delivery system to meet their social and economic needs. These
conversions became a matter of investment in land and it has a fundamental importance
in the urban poor’s rights, for it brings other developmental benefits (for instance, access
to services, access to invest, and credit or political voice). In other words, the creation of
urban informality became an issue of “socioeconomic struggle” to meet the basic human
needs for shelter and assets that the state could not afford for the bottom of the pyramid
of Egypt’s population. In this sense, urban informality and subsequent security of land
tenure became a reflection of “a site of transitions”, and, in time, commanded different
infrastructures, social services and legitimacy in “a new urbanity”. Also, people involved
in urban informality created their distinguished urban pattern which formulates “a site
of transitions” different than the one produced by the state.
Therefore, it is time to understand the philosophy of the modes of informal housing
systems and its taxonomies, and to ameliorate the bottleneck of “a hybrid formal status”
created by the state, to direct urban informality into a sustainable way to be socially,
physically and economically feasible for future urban growth. Urban informality as “a
site of transitions” is represented as an instrument for the SSSPT and the four interrelated
systemic transitions through the interaction and correlation among the three levels of
niche-​innovations, regime and landscape in which the three pillars are determining the
housing taxonomies. It is a continuous process in two directions, vertically and hori-
zontally, where interactions occur between the MLPs and the various pathways. These
pathways highlight socio-​cognitive aspects of the regime’s rules and their changes which
potentially shape the SSSPT transitions.
The three taxonomies of urban informality in Cairo differed and may follow three
essential trends: bottom-​up (politics of laissez-​faire), technocratic (politics of status
quo) and hybridization (politics of a blind eye). The three trends overlap and inter-
connect over time according to the four interrelated systemic transitions. The output
of these interactions between bottom-​up and technocratic is tensions between both.
On the other hand, the correlation between technocratic and hybridization is affirmed
among them. In addition, the integration of the three trends is a window for oppor-
tunity among all. Therefore, the interrelation of the three trends creates an environment
by which the SSSPT take place. The process of the interaction between the three trends
of the urban informality’s taxonomies, the modes of informal housing systems, and the
four interrelated systemic transitions is playing an excessive part in determining the role
of the state’s intervention in the urban informality transitions process. Still, “the polit-
ical” in transitions is so complex that it requires a multitude of analytical lenses in the
field of transition studies, which might lead to perspectives to grasp the niches–​regime
interactions in a more dynamic and fine-​grained way.
Thus, the state power fluctuates and is dominated by who exercises power, whom they
are empowered by and with whom. Regardless, urban informality in Cairo produced
within prevailing “state” structures and visions may guide transformative efforts. But
they are likely to reflect basic assumptions of the status quo. The state also has its regu-
latory framework that provides official legitimacy, such as reconciliation law, to certain
processes and organizations, in what is called political informality, often just described as
“messy”, “chaotic” or “fluid”. These suggestions can permit a more nuanced and appro-
priate analytical basis for understanding the perception of Egyptian urban informal
dwellers, and urban informality sustainable transitions.

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Notes
1 See CAPMAS (2016a). General Statistics for Population and Housing: Population Census.
2 Cairo is “the city of a thousand minarets” and is called Al-​Qāhirah in Arabic, which means “the
Defeater” reflecting its ability to defeat the intruders over history.
3 GCR contains the Cairo governorate, urban areas of Giza governorate and Shubra al-​Khayma
district, a part of the Qalioubiya governorate. Cairo Urban Region contains urban areas of
the three governorates which are the continuously urbanized core of the Greater Cairo Region.
Throughout the study, Cairo is used to reflect the Cairo Urban Region.
4 See A. Soliman: Urban Informality: Experiences and Urban Sustainability Transitions in Middle
Eastern Cities, 2021.
5 See Youm 7 (2020). The Prime Minister’s decleration of the Law of of reconciliation.
6 A declaration by president El Sisi during the opening of national strategic projects on 29 August
2020 in Alexandria Governorate.
7 See Youm 7 (2020).
8 In 2020, one US$ equals 15.8 Egyptian Pounds.
9 See Leilani Farha (2017).
10 See Ahmed M. Soliman (2017).
11 See GOPP (2012).
12 See Robert Ilbert (1985).
13 Ashwaiyyat, the plural for ashwaiyya (literally meaning “half hazard”), is the term used in
public to refer to the informal settlements in Egypt and refers to illegal arbitrary housing devel-
opment on the periphery of urban centers.
14 One feddan equals 0.42 hectare and constitutes 24 qirat. Each qirat equals 175 square meters.
15 See Janet Abu-​Lughod (1971), Ahmed Evin (1985), Horwood (2011) and D. Singerman and
P. Amar (2006).
16 See David Sims (2010), W.J. Dorman (2013); A. Bayat and E. Denis (2000).
17 See N. AlSayyad (2006).
18 Youm 7 (2020).
19 ISDF (2016). Slum areas in Egypt.
20 CAPMAS (2016b).
21 R. Keivani and E. Werna (2001).
22 R. Harris (2018); A. Soliman (2004b).
23 Soliman (2004a).
24 Sims (2010).
25 R.T. Devlin (2018).
26 C. Marx, and E. Kelling (2019).
27 R. Harris (2018) 267–​286.
28 A. Soliman (2021).
29 N. Banks et al. (2020).
30 M. Lydon, and A. Garcia (2015).
31 C. Marx and E. Kelling (2019)
32 R. Harris (2018) 267–​286.
33 A. Soliman (2019).
34 J.A. Lara-​Hernandez and A. Melis (2018).
35 See H. Lefebvre (1968).
36 See C. Marx and E. Kelling (2019).
37 See G. Tipple (2000).
38 K. Dovey et al. (2020).
39 See C. Marx and E. Kelling (2019).
40 See A.Soliman (2017).
41 N. Frantzeskaki et al. (2017); J. Grin et al. (2010); J. Koehler et al. (2017).
42 J. Grin et al. (2010).
43 B. Truffer et al. (2015).
44 F. Geels et al. (2017).
45 A. Soliman (2020).
46 J. Grin et al (2010)

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47 N. Frantzeskaki et al. (2018); A. Soliman (2017).

48 A. Leftwich (2010).
49 R. Harris (2018).
50 D. Obrach et al. (2017).
51 J. Koehler et al. (2017).
52 J. Koehler et al. (2017)
53 EEA. (2019); D. Loorbach et al. (2017).
54 N. Frantzeskaki et al. (2018).
55 B. Truffer (2015).
56 M. Shirazi and R. Keivani. eds. (2019).
57 N. AlSayyad (2004).

References
Abu-​Lughod, J. (1971). Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
AlSayyad, N. (2004). Urban informality as a “new” way of life. In A. Roy and N. AlSayyad (eds.),
Urban Informality: Transnational Perspectives from the Middle East, Latin America, and South
Asia (pp. 7–​30). Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.
AlSayyad, N. (2006). Whose Cairo. In D. Singerman and P. Amar (eds.), Cosmopolitan: Politics,
culture, and urban space in the new globalized Middle East (pp. 539–​542). Cairo: Amercian
Unversity Press in Cairo.
Banks, N. et al. (2020). Urban informality as a site of critical analysis. The Journal of Development
Studies 56(2), 223–​238.
Bayat, A. and Denis, E. (2000). Who is afraid of Ashwaiyyat? Urban change and politics in Egypt.
Environment and Urbanization 12(2), 185–​199.
CAPMAS (2016a). General Statistics for Population and Housing: Population Census. Cairo: Central
Agency for Public Mobilization and Statistics.
CAPMAS (2016b). Upgrading and Development of informal housing in Egypt (in Arabic). Cairo:
CAPMAS.
De Soto, H. (2000). The Mestry of Capital: Why Capitalism Triumphs in The Westand Fails
Everywhere Else. London: Blaack Swan.
Devlin, R.T. (2018). Asking ‘Third World questions’ of First World informality: using Southern
theory to parse needs from desires in an analysis of informal urbanism of the global North.
Planning Theory 17(4), 568–​587.
Dorman, W.J. (2013). Exclusion and informality: the praetorian politics of land management in
Cairo (Egypt). Internationa Journal of Urban and regional Research.
Dovey, K., et al. (2020). Viewpoint: Informal settlement is not a euphemism for ‘slum’: what’s at
stake beyond the language? IDPR, https://​doi.org/​10.3828/​idpr.2020.14.
EEA. (2019). Sustainability Transitions: Policy and Practice. Luxembourg: European Environment
Agency.
Evin, A. (ed.) (1985). The Expanding Metropolis: Coping with the Urban Growth of Cairo.
Singapore: Concept Media.
Farha, L. (2017). Report of the Special Rapporteur on Adequate Housing as a Component of the
Right to an Adequate Standard of Living, and on the Right to Non-​Discrimination in This Context’.
Human Rights Council, Thirty-​fourth session, Agenda item 3. New York: United Nations Human
Rights Council.
Frantzeskaki, N., et al. (2018). Co-​creating Sustainable Urban Futures: A Primer on Applying
Transition Management in Cities. Cham: Springer International.
—​—​— (2017). Urban Sustainability Transitions. New York: Routledge.
Geels, F., et al. (2017). A Research Agenda for the Sustainability Transitions Research Network.
Amsterdam: STRN.
GOPP. (2012). The Detailed Plan of El Matariya Area in Cairo City. Cairo: The General Organization
for Physical Planning (GOPP).
Grin, J., et al. (2010). Transitions to Sustainable Development: New Directions in the Study of Long
Term Transformative Change. New York: Routledge.

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Harris, R. (2018). Modes of informal urban development: a global phenomenon. Journal of

Planning Literature 33(3), 267–​286.
Horwood, C. (2011). Cairo: A city in Transition. Cairo: American University in Cairo press.
Ilbert, R. (1985). Heliopolis: colonial enterprise and town planning success? The Expanding
Metropolis Coping with the Urban Growth of Cairo (pp. 36–​42). Cairo: Proceeding of seminar
nine in the series Architecture Transformations in the Islamic World, November 11–​15.
ISDF. (2016). Slums Areas in Egypt. Cairo: ISDF.
Keivani, R., and Werna, E. (2001). Modes of housing provision in developing countries. Progress
in Planning 55, 65–​118.
Koehler, J., et al. (2017). A Research Agenda for the Sustainability Transitions Research Network.
Amsterdam: STRN.
Lara-​Hernandez, J.A., and Melis, A. (2018). Understanding the temporary appropriation in rela-
tionship to social sustainability. Sustainable Cities and Societies 1–​14.
Lefebvre, H. (1968). The Right to the City. The Anarchist Library.
Lefebvre, H. (1976). The Survival of Captalism: Reproduction of Relation of Production .
New York: Allison and Busby.
Leftwich, A. (2010). Redefining Politics. People, Resources and Power. New York: Routledge.
Loorbach, D., et al. (2017). Sustainability transitions research: transforming science and practise
for societal change. Annual Review of Environment and Resources 42, 599–​626.
Lydon, M., and Garcia, A. (2015). Tactical Urbanism: Short-​term Action for Long-​term Change.
Washington DC: Island Press.
Marx, C., and Kelling, E. (2019). Knowing urban informalities. Urban Studies 56(3), 494–​509.
Shirazi, M., and Keivani, R. (eds.) (2019). Urban Social Sustainability: Theory, Policy and Practice.
New York: Routledge.
Sims, D. (2010). Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City out of Control. Cairo: America University
Press in Cairo.
Singerman, D., and Amar, P. (2006). Cairo Cosmopolitan: Politics, Culture, and Urban Space in the
New Globalized Middle East. Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press.
Soliman, A. (2004a). Tilting at sphinxes: locating urban informality in Egyptian cities. In A. Roy
and N. AlSayyad (eds.), Urban Informality: Transnational Persectives from the Middle East,
Latin America, and South Asia (pp. 171–​207). Lanham, MD: Lexington Books.
Soliman, A. (2004b). A Possible Way Out: Formalizing Housing Informality in Egyptian Cities.
Lanham, MD: American University Press.
Soliman, A. (2017). Land readjustment as a mechanism for new urban land expansion in Egypt:
experimenting participatory inclusive processes. International Journal of Urban Sustainable
Development 9(3), 313–​332.
Soliman, A. (2019). So it’s always a chance: community-​led solutions to new urban expansion. In
S. Attia, Z. Shafik and A. Ibrahim (eds.), New Cities and Community Extensions in Egypt and the
Middle East (pp. 159–​179). Berlin: Springer.
Soliman, A. (2020). Understanding sustainability transitions for urban informality in the
Middle East. International Journal of Urban Sustainable Development, doi.org/​10.1080/​
19463138.2020.1728692.
Soliman, A. (2021) Urban Informality: Experiences and Urban Sustainability Transitions in Middle
Eastern Cities. Berlin: Springer.
Soliman, A. (2022) The Right to Land: To whom it belongs after a Reconciliation Law in Egypt.
Journal of Contemporary Urban Affairs, 6 (2) 96–111.
Tipple, G. (2000). Extending Themselves: User Initiated Transformations of Government-built
Housing in Developing Countries. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press.
Truffer, B., et al. (2015). The geography of sustainability transitions: contours of an emerging
theme. Environmental Innovation and Societal Transitions 17, 63–​72.
Youm 7. (2020). The Prime Minister’s declaration of the Law of Reconciliation. Cairo: Youm 7,
Egyptian newspaper, 9 September.

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20
CAIRO’S DESERT BACKYARD
The Future of an Ever-​Growing Metropolis?

David Sims

Since the early 20th century the footprints of almost all of the world’s larger cities, even
those whose populations have been static, have been expanding spatially, with new resi-
dential suburbs and new commercial, industrial, leisure and other land-​hungry activities
being added year after year. Most of this expansion has taken place over surrounding
rural hinterlands through a myriad of conversions –​both small and large –​of farm,
forest and pasture lands into various forms of urban land use. Such inevitable accretion
of space to a metropolis has been mainly due to the introduction of new transport tech-
nologies (streetcars and, soon thereafter, private cars) and advances in infrastructure
networks. It has sometimes been influenced by government plans and land development
controls, but in most cases such influence has been secondary to direct determinants such
as land and real-​estate markets, the dynamics of demand for land and housing, and the
influences of transportation nodes and corridors. Such dominant kinds of urban expan-
sion can be called “organic” since they follow centripetal dictates of proximity and dis-
tance and are modulated through the values of hundreds if not thousands of land parcels
that are exchanged annually in any city.
Only in very rare situations are large tracts of empty public land found in the paths of
urban expansion. In these cases, government authorities need not go through the expen-
sive and complicated processes of acquiring private lands and imposing planning layouts
on owners; they can easily draw up and execute detailed physical plans over vast spaces,
and they have the potential to capture some or all of the increase in land values due
to development. Such situations are to be found in abundance in some Middle Eastern
countries, and in particular in oil-​rich Arab states. Think of Dubai, Kuwait, Riyadh and
other cities.
Cairo is a particular case. Historically, its first agglomerations (Fustat, Fatamid
Cairo, Qitai, etc.) were located directly along the edges of the Eastern Desert and
abutting the flat agricultural flood plain of the Nile and its canals. As can be seen from
Figure 20.1, Cairo’s Eastern desert is vast, with hills and escarpments in the south
and progressively flatter lands as one moves northward, and with altitudes that slowly
rise to a maximum of 450 meters above sea level as one moves further to the east. In
contrast, the Western Desert begins some 15 kilometers from the historic cores, across
the Nile flood plain with its dense pattern of rural settlements. It, too, has a varied

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-23 323

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David Sims

Figure 20.1 Greater Cairo topography: agricultural areas, built-​up areas and deserts with
contours.
Source: Sims, David, Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City Out of Control. Cairo, AUC Press,
2012, p. 27.

topography of flat areas interrupted by hills and rocky outcrops, and it also rises in
altitude as one moves further outwards. The geographic situation of Cairo is unique,
in that there has always been an abrupt dichotomy between the settled and productive
flood plain, with a conveniently close desert to the east and another vast desert at some
distance to the west.

Early Extensions into the Desert (up to circa 1950)

Early extensions into the nearby Eastern Desert were always constrained by the lack of
water and the high cost of providing it. (One has only to look at Salah al-​Din’s citadel
and its massive aqueduct to realize this, but even irrigating low-​lying desert areas in what
is now ʿAbbasseya and beyond was well-​nigh impossible before the introduction of mech-
anical pumps.) Yet these close-​in empty areas were ideal for funerary establishments,
and over centuries both the northern and southern cemeteries were developed and pro-
gressively expanded. Another function of the close-​in desert was to use it as a dumping
ground for waste, rubble and anything else that was unwanted (as evidenced by the hill of
centuries of debris directly east of Fatimid Cairo, now the site of the Aga Khan Park), a
practice that continues in Egypt’s nearby desert wastelands until today. Other than these
functions –​and the odd monastery, hermit cave and desert hunting lodge –​until the end

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Cairo’s Desert Backyard: An Ever-Growing Metropolis?

of the 19th century the Eastern Desert was hardly exploited at all. And the more remote
Western Desert was totally ignored, except of course for the various touristic and leisure
opportunities provided by the Giza Pyramids.
The Eastern Desert’s inclusion into the metropolis began with two events: the use of
nearby sections for British army camps, training grounds and transport facilities on the
one hand, and incipient private real-​estate projects. By 1911 the freight rail line from
ʿAbbasseya south to Maʿadi and El Tora appeared on maps, and army camps began to
be built along what is now the Salah Salem corridor to the northeast. In parallel, the first
urban subdivisions of desert land appeared adjacent to ʿAbbasseya and Al Marg, and in
1905 the Heliopolis Company, established by the Belgian entrepreneur Baron Empain,
began to develop the Heliopolis suburb on flat desert land beyond ʿAbbasseya. This sub-
urban project took decades to consolidate, but it became very successful, mainly due to
clever promotion, a mix of land uses and housing types, and especially a streetcar net-
work that linked it to Bab al-​Hadid.
During the first half of the 20th century Cairo expanded rapidly but, with the excep-
tion of small new desert suburbs east of Maʿadi, Al-​Derasa, Helwan and additions to
ʿAbbasseya/​Heliopolis and Cairo International Airport, virtually all such expansion was
on agricultural flat lands, especially to the north and west of what is now considered down-
town. Prime examples include Shubra, Al Waili, Rod al-​Farag, Al-​Qubba, Al Matareya,
etc.1 New areas also appeared: Zamalek, Garden City, Al Mounira and, across the Nile,
incipient urbanization started in Giza, Dokki and Embaba. And in 1948 plans were
finalized for a large new quarter, Madinat al-​Awqaf, which today is called Mohandiseen.
In other words, until the 1950s, practically all of Cairo had grown on, and at the
expense of, the flat agricultural land, mainly carried out by private real-​estate companies
and contractors. This expansion progressively radiated outward across this land in what
was a logical pattern of urban growth.

1950s to 1990s: the Desert Becomes an Integral Part of the Metropolis

Urban master plans for Cairo’s expansion were first worked up in the 1920s, and in 1935
Sabry Mahboub of Cairo’s Tanzim Department published the first such plan for Greater
Cairo.2. This plan foresaw great northward expansions up to Matareya and the Ismaʿilia
Canal and also across the Nile in Embaba and Giza. While it traced out expansions of
Heliopolis to the east, otherwise desert lands as paths of urban growth were ignored.
However, as noted by Denis, subsequent master plans for Greater Cairo, in 1956 and
1969, sketched out extensions into both the Western and, especially, the Eastern Desert,
built on the logic of utilizing empty state-​owned desert lands and preserving the fertile
agricultural lands from urban encroachment.3 Around the same time planners led by
Sayed Karim proposed a huge new quarter to be located just east of ʿAbbasseya –​ori-
ginally named City of the Revolution and today called Madinet Nasr –​and although
implementation of this scheme was delayed by the 1967–​1973 wars, by the mid-​1970s this
state-​led enterprise was well on its way to realization.4
Such nascent plans and schemes for penetrating Cairo’s desert hinterlands received a
tremendous and, as we shall see, ever continuing and accelerating boost with the concept
of a national program of new towns. This idea was an offshoot of Sadat’s 1974 October
Paper, which mentioned strategic spaces and the march towards a modern society, and
his accompanying “Open Door Policy” that was announced in the same year. The con-
cept reflected the vision of new desert settlements that could be planned completely

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David Sims

from scratch, unconstrained by either topography or existing urban realities, and where
modern, un-​crowded and organized communities could be established according to “sci-
entific” principles. Economically self-​sufficient new towns were to exhibit low residen-
tial densities, integrated and well-​serviced neighborhoods, strict separation of land uses,
green belts, wide and verdant boulevards, and up-​to-​date industries. Underlying the idea
of new towns was (and still is) the perceived imperative that Egypt must burst out of the
confines of the crowded Nile Valley and expand horizontally, both to provide space for
Egypt’s ever-​growing population and to build a new society unencumbered by the chaotic
and uncontrollable urban systems found in existing cities and towns.
The first new town venture began in 1976 with the declaration by Sadat to build a totally
self-​sufficient city at a desert location roughly 65 kilometers east of central Cairo on the
Ismaʿilia Desert Road –​supposedly far enough away to be economically independent
of the metropolis. Called Tenth of Ramadan, this new town was aimed at an ultimate
population of 500,000 and was to have a solid foundation based on manufacturing, with
workers residing in government-​built housing blocks, and with a limited amount of pri-
vately built middle-​class housing. Plans were rapidly prepared (by a Swedish firm under
contract to the then Ministry of Reconstruction) and the first infrastructure and land
allocations began in 1977–​1978.
Other new town schemes quickly followed that of Tenth of Ramadan, of which
two –​Sixth of October and Al ‘Ubour –​were to be situated near Cairo. These followed
closely the idea of independent urban centers based mainly on manufacturing, and they
have since been called “first generation” new towns (along with Sadat City just off the
Alexandria Desert Highway and New ʿAmireya west of Alexandria). Since it was to be
“independent”, the fact that Sixth of October was a huge 45 kilometers distant from cen-
tral Cairo did not bother planners, and in fact the only criticisms at the time was that the
new town should have been much further into the desert.
The legislative and institutional framework for the new towns was formalized with
the enactment of Law 59 of 1979 that created the New Urban Communities Authority
(NUCA), under the Ministry of Housing and Reconstruction. Based on location-​specific
Presidential Decrees, NUCA was allowed to possess and develop all State lands deemed
necessary for its new towns, and in addition, for the first time in Egypt, the law gave a
central authority the power to sell these lands and retain the proceeds to finance further
projects.5 Thus, at one fell swoop, the groundwork for a monopolistic, super land devel-
opment agency was created whose financial raison d’êre –​and even basic survival –​was
based on being able to continuously acquire, develop and sell chunks of land, which,
as we shall see, has become a powerful and self-​fulfilling mechanism unique in Egypt’s
public ecosystem.
In the 1980s the Minister of Housing came up with the concept of some 10 “new
settlements” –​mainly enormous dormitory public housing estates, each of which was to
house 250,000 inhabitants –​to ring Cairo, as shown in Figure 20.2. After tens of thousands
of housing units were built, these were amalgamated into yet more new towns: Fifteen
May (east of Helwan), Sheikh Zayed (next to Sixth of October) and New Cairo, Shorouk
and Al-​Badr (all to the east). This made, in addition to the first-​generation cities of Sixth
of October and Tenth of Ramadan, a total of eight new towns around Cairo. During
this period, although these cities quickly attracted industries and other investments, and
although their boundaries were frequently expanded, their population uptake was less
than impressive; by the 1996 Census these eight new towns registered fewer than 150,000
inhabitants, an insignificant 1.1% of Greater Cairo’s population.6

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327
Cairo’s Desert Backyard: An Ever-Growing Metropolis?
327

Figure 20.2 New towns and new settlements around Cairo as planned in 1983.
Source: Sims, David, Egypt’s Desert Dreams: Development or Disaster. Cairo, AUC Press, 2014, p. 129.
328

David Sims

It must be noted that, in parallel to the creation of new towns, in the 1970s through the
early 1990s Cairo’s desert backyard was progressively being exploited for other purposes –​
none of which were sanctioned in any government master plans. These included various
military camps and training grounds (e.g., Heikastep), the 1000-​ feddan Pyramids
Gardens housing cooperative and a mega police officers’ housing estate, both of which
abutted the Pyramids Plateau, plus Muqattam City, Zahra’ al-​Maʿadi and Nuzha to the
east. Such “off-​plan” developments have continued up to the present day and appear all
over Cairo’s desert backyard.
Over the 1970s through 1990s, while desert developments around Cairo were making
their first debuts, Cairo proper continued to grow impressively, especially in population. It
increased by 5.3 million inhabitants over the two census periods 1976 to 1996, representing
a jump of 40%. This huge increase was mainly absorbed by informal settlements (‘ashwả
iat) fringing the formal city, the majority of which were being built extra-​legally on pri-
vate agricultural land and whose explosive growth was becoming so obvious that even
the government could no longer wish it away. It should already have been clear that new
towns were not, in and of themselves, going to absorb significant portions of Cairo’s
increases in population, but the government, the real-​estate industry and most of Egypt’s
planning and engineering cadres remained steadfast in their belief in the new towns as the
solution to overcrowded Cairo and the salvation of Egypt’s built environment.

Post 2000: Cairo’s Exponential Spatial Expansion into the Desert

Desert expansion and new towns in Egypt had been closely associated with Hasseballah
Kafrawi, Minister of Housing and Reconstruction and chairman of NUCA from 1977
to 1993. His dirigiste approach to physical planning and urban development, called by
some “neo-​Stalinist”, made an extensive mark on all desert development, especially with
the construction of massive housing estates and impressive infrastructure projects in the
new towns.7 But under him policies were mostly of the “build and people will come” var-
iety, with little concern for or savvy about how to promote or finance these developments,
except through central government allocations. After his retirement, more market-​
oriented managers began to experiment with selling land parcels in the new towns around
Cairo to the highest bidders, and it was soon discovered that this could be a real bonanza,
however speculative the underlying motivations. Thus, starting at the end of the 1990s,
more and more land was allocated by Presidential Decree to existing new towns around
Cairo, more and more superblocks were parcellated, and more and more private-​sector
schemes were promoted. In particular, the late 1990s saw the appearance, for the first time
in Egypt, of powerful private real-​estate developers whose main business was the creation
of up-​scale gated communities and mixed-​use compounds around Cairo. These schemes
found a strong demand from better-​off Egyptian families and Egyptian expatriates in the
Gulf who correctly perceived that investing in these properties was the best place to park
family capital. Success bred success, and NUCA, not to mention other State organizations,
responded by accelerating desert land conversions to urban use and, at the same time,
began to see serious financial returns. Thus, as the only financially solvent State actor
besides the Suez Canal Authority and the Egyptian General Petroleum Corporation,
NUCA began to enjoy serious political weight within the government, which in turn
allowed it to acquire and convert yet more desert lands around Cairo and elsewhere.
And NUCA began to experiment with alternative land-​development mechanisms, par-
ticularly that of partnerships with private developers, where land purchases were waived

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Cairo’s Desert Backyard: An Ever-Growing Metropolis?

in exchange for NUCA being paid an agreed percentage of a developer’s gross revenue
from property sales over the life of a project. It also began, due to its good future land
revenues profile, to raise money on bond markets.
The 2006 Census registered 602,000 inhabitants in the eight new towns around Cairo,
showing that these satellites had begun to attract at least some inhabitants.8 Yet this only
represented a paltry 3.7% of the total population of the metropolis, and it became clear
that development in these new towns was creating a new and fundamentally different
form of urban landscape. The main features included:

• Building and planning standards were high and dictated very low residential densities,
even assuming high occupancy.
• Sprawl and patchy development were very common, with uneven and discontinuous
build-​up; empty land parcels and stalled projects were very common.
• Developer-​built housing prices made units (villas, duplexes and garden apartments)
only affordable to the upper-​middle classes and the rich.
• No mixed use was allowed in any residential areas (e.g., ground floor commercial).
• Speculative investment drove most of real-​estate demand –​empty and closed housing
units dominated at between 60 and 80& of the total housing stock.
• Attempts at affordable social housing were creating remote, mono-​form housing
estates (which at the time almost no one lived in).
• Mobility was exclusively by private car, except for a smattering of minibuses and tuk-​
tuks; plans for rapid public transport both to and within new towns never materialized.
• Inward-​oriented and up-​scale gated communities with perimeter walls dominated
most residential areas, along with high-​standard individual subdivisions.
• There were significant successes at creating commercial, office and service
establishments, but there was little street life and no functioning public spaces, except
in private malls and shopping centers.

Such features of new town developments around Cairo were facts that anyone could
see, but they seemed to be either accepted (with the logic that it takes many decades
for new towns to mature) or simply ignored. And by 2010 it seemed as if speculative,
private development in and around Cairo’s eight new towns had gained an unstoppable
momentum. Adding to this momentum were decisions starting in 2014 to locate
hundreds of thousands of modest public housing units of the Social Housing Fund in
the fringes of these already sprawling new towns (in particular Badr, Tenth of Ramadan,
Sixth of October and 15 May), to open huge malls, shopping centers, private hospitals,
private schools and universities, to build Gulf-​style recreation and entertainment venues
in them, and to construct more and more highways to improve their accessibility. Even
the recession caused by the January 2011 uprising only slowed down the desert develop-
ment process for a couple of years, re-​emerging with yet more vigor after El Sisi took
power. More and more it was perceived that the legitimacy and breadth of the govern-
ment could be equated with lots and lots of physical development in the deserts, both
around Cairo and elsewhere. And, sure enough, in 2015 the New Administrative Capital
(NAC), to be located some 70 kilometers east of Cairo proper, was announced to great
fanfare. This represented an order-​of-​magnitude acceleration of the development of
Cairo’s desert backyard, since not only was the total designated area of 700 km2 unprece-
dented (much larger than all of Cairo proper where over 95% of the population lives), its
concept was based on the rapid relocation of practically all central government agencies,

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David Sims

Figure 20.3 Greater Cairo and new town boundaries in 2009.

Source: Sims, David, Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City Out of Control. Cairo, AUC Press,
2012, p. 174.

its management system represented a new hybrid of NUCA plus the Armed Forces, and
it was assumed that costs would be financed through land sales.
The new capital garnered the most attention –​especially its first phase of 170 km2
that included the new government district (al hay al-​hukumi), the presidential precinct,
the diplomatic enclave, the huge Green River, and lots and lots of private businesses and
compounds. Yet other desert developments around Cairo continued to be announced in
parallel. Thus, for example, the boundaries of Sixth of October were enlarged in 2017
to encompass an additional 165 km2, which allowed the carving out of three distinct
new town administrations –​October Gardens, New October and October the Mother
(October al-​Umm), representing a total area of 719 km2, which just coincidentally equals
the area of the NAC. Talk about east-​west symmetry! And not to be outdone, presiden-
tial decrees over roughly the same period extended the boundaries of other new towns,
such as Decree 66 of 2009 that doubled the area of Al-​‘Ubour and another that created
Al ‘Obour al-​Gedida, plus decrees that created an extension to Sheikh Zayed along the
Alexandria Desert Road and others that extended the already huge area of New Cairo to
the south and expanded the footprints of Tenth of Ramadan, Fifteen May and Al-​Badr,
mainly to find space for thousands upon thousands of social housing units in huge, mono-​
form housing estates. Of course, some of these newly declared boundaries encompassed
green belts, cemeteries and very large-​lot exurban villa-​farms, but past experience shows
that NUCA will encourage the conversion of these lands to urban uses as long as devel-
opment fees are paid to NUCA by existing landowners or new investors.

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Cairo’s Desert Backyard: An Ever-Growing Metropolis?

And NUCA is not the only prime developer to be found in Cairo’s ever-​expanding
desert backyard. There have been several random private desert projects that are off-​
plan –​such as the gated communities of Uptown Cairo, New Giza, Future City (madinat
al mustaqbal) and New Heliopolis –​and other suburban subdivisions have flourished
along both the Ismailia and Alexandria desert roads. New cemeteries have been built at
remote locations by both Giza and Cairo governorates, and industrial complexes have
popped up, such as the Roubiki Leather City near Al-​Badr and the eastward extension
of the Shaq al-​Thuʿban stone-​processing industries into Wadi Degla. But the Armed
Forces have probably made the most impressive non-​ NUCA footprints in various
locations in Cairo’s desert, mainly by converting military camps to urban purposes. The
most striking example of this phenomenon has been the construction of the new head-
quarters for the Ministry of Defense, located on a colossal 88 km2 chunk of desert just
next to the NAC, bounded to the south by the ‘Ain Sukhna Highway and to the West by
New Cairo. In addition to ten concentric octagonal office blocks (each of which is larger
than the Pentagon outside Washington DC), the Defense Complex includes consider-
able associated facilities, residential blocks and gated communities, many of which are
still being developed.9
Stitching together all of this desert development are major highways and transport
corridors, most of which have been built or upgraded in the 2015–​2020 period.10 The
most important of these include:

1. The massive 365-​kilometer-​long Regional Ring Road (completed in 2018) that sweeps
clockwise well from the Delta north of Benha, bisects the NAC, crosses the Nile at
‘Ayyat in the south, and almost touches the Fayoum’s Lake Karoun to the West,
before swinging north and behind Sadat City. While its justification was to improve
metropolitan traffic flows and allow regional traffic to by-​pass central Cairo, its tra-
jectory also traverses enormous desert tracts that, sooner or later, may have develop-
ment potential.
2. The Middle Ring Road (mostly completed by 2020) that runs clockwise from Abu
Zaʿabal and south behind the ‘Orabi Cooperative, continues south between New
Cairo and the NAC, crosses the ‘Ain Sukhna Highway and then turns west and crosses
the Nile south of Al-​Tura, whence it continues west across the Dahshur Pyramids area
and swings north to cross Sixth of October and finally to join up with the Alexandria
Desert highway and the new Dabʿa expressway. This trajectory itself opens up many
promising desert tracts, in particular the huge and relatively flat area from Dahshur
across the Fayum Road to Sixth of October, some 150 km2, which had been a military
area and completely inaccessible.
3. Offshoot highways from these two ring roads that are clearly intended to open up as yet
un-​exploited desert tracts in the further reaches of Cairo’s desert. These include a road
that starts from the Middle Ring Road’s junction with the ‘Ain Sukhna Highway and
loops south through promising flat desert and then rejoins the ʿAin Sukhna Higwhay
further east some 50 kilometers later. Another example of roads penetrating virgin
desert can be found in the area between Al-​‘Obour and Tenth of Ramadan, where a
network linked to the Regional Ring Road will open up 120 km2 of the last untouched
desert in this quadrant of Greater Cairo.

These transport corridors and link roads –​constructed both by the Ministry of Transport
and, increasingly, by the Armed Forces –​serve many regional and even national objectives,

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David Sims

but it is notable that they also function as a means to open up yet more and more desert –​
especially very far away virgin desert.
Standing back and looking at the metropolis as a whole, it is inescapable to con-
clude that Cairo’s desert backyard, which had been receiving increasing attention (and
investments) in the 1990s and 2000s, has after 2010 gone into extreme overdrive. The
built-​up area of Cairo proper was estimated in 2017 to extend over some 600 km2, and
this is where over 95% of the metropolis’s 21 million inhabitants was to be found (made up
of “formal” areas of roughly 410 km2 and informal areas of roughly 190 km2, including
some underdeveloped or yet undeveloped spaces). In comparison, by the same year the
sprawling march into Cairo’s desert covered at least a colossal 1900 km2 (including non-​
NUCA projects and the first phase of the NAC). Some of this area is still to be built on,
but all is designated for urban development, most infrastructure has been laid, and most
of the blocks and parcels have been sold or allocated. In other words, one is talking about
a desert Cairo that is already at least three times as large as Cairo proper. Add to this
the latter phases of the NAC (530 km2) plus more extensions to the existing new towns
(another 850 km2) and more off-​plan projects, one can expect at least another 1,500 km2
of desert conversions to become a reality in less than a decade. Cairo proper has practic-
ally no room to grow (except by illegal conversion of agricultural land, something that
the government is taking more and more draconian measures to stop), so its total area
is almost frozen. Thus, one can say with some confidence that by 2030 desert Cairo will
sprawl over an area that is well above five times that of Cairo proper.

But Where are the People?

Since their inception, the new towns and other early developments in Cairo’s desert back-
yard have had a difficult time in attracting people. As we have seen, Census figures showed
almost insignificant populations of the eight new towns in 1986 and 1996, and even in 2006
there were only 602,000 inhabitants out of a Greater Cairo population of over 16 million,
or 3.7%. The results of the 2017 Census were much anticipated by observers, since in the
intervening 10+​years tremendous investments had been made and innumerable housing
projects had been built in these new cities, and it was expected that, finally, they would
have gained in people a level commensurate with all of these investments. Sure enough,
1.6 million inhabitants were enumerated in Cairo’s new towns –​representing almost a
tripling in ten years –​but, over the same period Greater Cairo’s population increased by
4.91 million, meaning that all the new towns around Cairo absorbed only 14.1% of this
increase. In other words, the vast majority –​some 4.2 million people –​continued to be
absorbed by Cairo proper, not by the new towns that were specifically planned to do just
that. And, it must be noted that this feeble absorption of Cairo’s additional population
was actually the same in percentage terms as in the previous 1996–​2006 period, meaning
that the ability of the new towns to absorb Greater Cairo’s massive population growth is
not increasing, and may in fact be decreasing. (The decrease, in percentage terms, is not
particularly large, from 14.8% over the 1996–​2006 period versus 14.1% over the 2006–​
2017 period.)
And where has this huge additional population chosen to reside? Formal Cairo has
little space to expand, and most population additions crowded into the city’s informal
settlements, especially in Giza Governorate (with an average annual increase of 3.2%)
and Qaliubeya Governorate (with an average annual increase of 2.9%), compared to an

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overall annual increase of Greater Cairo’s population of 2.6% over the 2006–​2017 period).
For example, classic informal areas such as Boulaq al-​Dakrour qism increased by 395,000
persons (up 1.7 times), al-​Ahram and al-​‘ʿUmraneya districts (aqsam) increased by
493,000 inhabitants (up 1.5 times) and Bassateen and Dar el Salam increased by 125,000
(up 1.2 times). Even greater absorption was to be found in “peri-​urban” informal areas;
for example, Khusoos, Abu Numrus, Khanka and Qaliub districts all saw increases of
over 1.5 times, with a total additional population in these four informal areas of 690,000.
Compared to these figures, increases in the new towns were decidedly meager; the whole
city of Sixth of October added only 157,000 people and all of New Cairo only 118,000.
Why is most of Greater Cairo’s growing population not going to the new towns?
It at first may seem counter-​intuitive that anyone would prefer crowded, disorganized
and poorly served areas over new, spacious and well-​controlled neighborhoods, but the
answers are obvious, and have been for decades.
First, it is clear that the new towns do not offer the kinds of housing that would
attract even a small portion of Cairene families, especially those who live in the city’s
huge and growing informal areas (which currently house at least 65% of Greater Cairo’s
population). Although the new towns around Cairo have seen a large number of heavily
subsidized government housing units built, all of which have been aimed at those of
“limited income”, these units are only available for a minority of families who can meet
the difficult conditions and application procedures. And private developers, with a couple
of exceptions, have preferred and continue to prefer to concentrate on high-​end, even
luxury housing in the new towns, something that is far beyond the means of even the
lower-​middle classes. Sure, there is demand for these properties, but such demand is
almost all driven by long-​term and speculative investment by families who perceive that
real estate is more attractive than banks, bonds or family businesses. This speculative
intent is even very strong among those buying up government housing units, and in all
cases the result is extremely high rates of unoccupied and closed housing units, well over
50% in almost all neighborhoods and compounds of the new towns.
Moreover, the kinds of jobs and business opportunities that are suitable for those of
“limited income” are in very short supply in desert Cairo. Factory, clerical and service
jobs can be found in the new towns, but most salaries are very low and hardly constitute a
wage on which one can support a new family out in the desert. And in most neighborhoods
and buildings it is prohibited to open retail shops, services or offices; workshops and
repair shops are almost unknown, and even kiosks, random street stalls and pavement
sellers are strongly discouraged. These prohibited uses are precisely those that generate so
much employment and so many business and petty manufacturing opportunities in Cairo
proper. In effect, the vast micro and small informal business sector, which generates over
half the jobs in urban Egypt, is almost totally excluded from the new towns.

Transport Problems and Environmental Costs

Transport is probably the single most serious problem facing the “limited-​income”
family who might choose to move out of Cairo to one of the new towns. As in any
large metropolis, location and mobility do count, and this is especially true with the
huge distances that must be traversed to get from central Cairo to the new towns (10
to 55 kilometers), the colossal distances to get from one new town to another (up to 95
kilometers), and even the remarkably large distances that must be covered to simply get

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from one part of a new town to another (up to 20 kilometers). Given that even today
only some 20% of households in Greater Cairo have access to a car or motorbike, rapid
and inexpensive public transport is crucial if the new towns expect to attract any but
the car-​owning upper classes. But poor transport services have for years and years been
identified as one of the main obstacles to the development of Cairo’s new towns, not just
for commuting to jobs, but also for trips for shopping, to universities, and to the markets
serving manufacturers and intermediate suppliers. (Even these car-​owning classes will
also struggle since, for each member of a family to be mobile, several cars and more
than one driver per family are often the norm, and spending much of the day stuck in
traffic is a common complaint.) The Cairo Transport Authority runs a few buses out
to parts of new towns, but most passengers rely on informal mini-​buses, and both face
daunting hours-​long trajectories. Proclamations by the government of impending rapid
transit or metro lines to link the new towns to Cairo have been heard for decades, but
as of 2020 not a single service was functioning. Yes, construction of the electric rail line
to the NAC from Madinat al-​Salam started in 2019, and in 2020 contracts were signed
for monorail lines from Embaba to Sixth of October and from Nasr City to the NAC.
Whether these services will be convenient and affordable to those who really need them
remains to be seen, and in any event many more rapid public transport lines will be
needed if most of Cairo’s new towns are to be served. The long distances that any transit
system must cover (and the many stops required) represent not only a serious time loss,
but more importantly they will translate either (1) into fares that will be unaffordable to
any modest-​income family or (2) into colossal and recurring state subsidies to keep such
systems financially solvent.
Even if public transport lines could efficiently link the new towns and the NAC to
Cairo proper, movement within each new town will remain an intractable problem since
the new towns and their extensions involve such huge distances and low densities. For
years there have been plans to create efficient and frequent internal bus networks in some
of the new towns, and a “smart” and high-​tech bus network is on the drawing boards for
the NAC, but the scattered and sprawling form development, the low planned residen-
tial densities and the very low rates of occupancy mean that any such transport services
would need to be heavily subsidized forever.
The issue of transport brings into focus the economic and financial costs and the
negative externalities of having such sprawling new towns sprinkled over immense desert
spaces. The “friction of distance” is not just a slogan, it is a reality that all metrop-
olises face, and it is for this reason that the idea of the “compact city” has become so
popular in an environmentally conscious world. And the environmental costs of Cairo’s
desert development are considerable and will be even more so in the future. The carbon
footprint of all the vehicles on the roads and meandering around endless suburbs and
compounds is enormous, as is the energy used in air conditioning and extensive street
lighting. And water, which needs to be conveyed long distances from the Nile, is already
required in huge quantities –​not only for domestic consumption, but for parks, exten-
sive landscaping, public fountains, golf courses and swimming pools, all of which are
subjected to extremely high desert evaporation.11
So, no matter how much new town developers boast of green features and the most
up-​to-​date technology, and no matter how often the NAC is promoted as being secure,
interconnected and “smart” (with the world’s longest “green river” to boot!) these
developments will forever be anything but green or smart.

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Cairo’s Desert Backyard: An Ever-Growing Metropolis?

The Future of Cairo? An Increasingly Unbalanced Metropolis

Trends do not bode well for a future Cairo as a well-​functioning, dynamic and attractive
metropolis. It is the dichotomy between a huge, sprawling and disconnected desert city
on the one hand and a constrained, dilapidated and neglected Cairo proper on the other.
This dichotomy represents an acute spatial and social imbalance, where at least 2000
square kilometers (and soon to be more!) were in 2017 populated by 1.3 million per-
sons, whereas the 600 kilometers of Cairo proper were the home to 19.9 million. This
absurd ratio, where a space five times that of the core city contains one-​seventeenth of
the population, may be slightly reduced as Cairo’s desert population increases, but the
large majority of the metropolis’s population growth (86% over the 1996–​2017 period)
will continue to crowd into the city proper.
Desert Cairo will continue to expand and reproduce itself as a deadening, sprawling
and sterile landscape, one that already is about as environmentally unfriendly as is pos-
sible. Sure, there will be some islands of luxury, greenery and modern design, and some
state-​of-​the-​art office and commercial/​entertainment enclaves will function well. But
overall, one will experience more discontinuous development, more massive arteries and
boulevards, more residential and “integrated” compounds whose main external features
are simply perimeter walls and gates, and more failed projects, stalled projects and empty
lots. These desert developments have high associated economic and environmental
costs and will entail huge and recurring expenditures on the part of government.12 The
business model of NUCA and other State actors relies simply on converting more and
more public desert land and reaping the financial gains. But how long can this continue,
and how sustainable is it? How long will the real-​estate bonanza, fueled as it is mainly by
speculation and long-​term family investment decisions, be able to continue? And since
most of this leads to the creation of more and more dead capital, what is the point?
But probably the greatest failure of the headlong promotion of desert development is the
fact that such development is aimed at Cairo’s middle and upper classes. Sure, subsidized
housing estates are being tacked onto new towns (parenthetically, not the NAC nor New
Cairo), but the location of these mono-​form developments does not provide anything
approaching the livelihood opportunities upon which their intended beneficiaries depend.
In other words, one already can see an acute imbalance between an exclusive desert Cairo
with its sealed environments in which elites and their children circulate and where those
with means can pursue modern lifestyles and, in contrast, the under-​served and under-​
funded agglomerations of the crowded city proper, an imbalance that can only increase.
For decades, UN agencies and the World Bank have been talking about the imperative for
the world’s cities to be “inclusive”, with opportunities available for all classes and groups,
but the word seems to have been banished from the lexicon of Cairo’s desert development.
And what will be the future of Cairo proper? With both formal secondary and ter-
tiary economic activities as well as the well-​off moving in droves out to the sprawling, car-​
dependent and sterile desert, the existing city seems to be condemned to being the repository
for the crushing majority of modest means who depend on informal mechanisms of housing
and jobs to eke out their livelihoods in urban spaces that are starved for funds. Some fraction
of this majority may venture out into the distant desert periphery for work or shopping, but
this is about the only linkage between the new and old. And once the NAC is up and running,
there will be no government establishments anywhere near the center of the metropolis,
and the only vision for Cairo proper seems to be that of spruced-​up cultural and historical
enclaves that are little more than theme parks. Is this what a great city like Cairo should be?

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Notes
1 J. Abu-​Lughod (1971).
2 M. Volait (2001).
3 See Denis (2018, 4). The 1956 master plan was prepared by the Planning Commission of the
Ministry of Municipal and Rural Affairs, Municipality of Cairo.
4 M. Elshahed (2015).
5 Law 59/​1976 specified that new cities were to be managed by new town agencies directly under
NUCA but that, once “complete”, each new town was to revert to municipal local administra-
tion under the relevant governorate. After almost 50 years this, devolution of a new town to
local administration has yet to occur anywhere in Egypt.
6 Greater Cairo is variously defined. Here we use a common one, where Greater Cairo is made
up of Cairo Governorate, Giza City plus four districts (marakaz), Shubra al-​Kheima City plus
four marakaz of Qaliubia Governorate, including the eight new towns around Cairo. See Sims
(2012, 6–​7).
7 Kafrawi’s early experience in rebuilding the High Dam at Aswan and associated high-​tension
power lines, plus in reconstructing the Suez Canal cities, gave him a reputation as a tireless
engineering apparatchik, for which he received both Egyptian and Soviet orders of merit.
8 NUCA and the Ministry of Housing questioned these Census figures, believing that the actual
2006 population of the eight new towns around Cairo was three times higher. NUCA maintains
its own very optimistic population estimates, said to be based on the number of installed water
and/​or electricity connections to residential units in each town, a methodology that ignores
unoccupied or vacant units. See the NUCA website in Arabic for a breakdown of estimated
populations of each new town at www.newcit​ies.gov.eg/​know​_​cit​ies/​defa​ult.aspx. Altogether
NUCA claimed in 2017–​2018 that Egypt’s new town population exceeded 8 million, whereas
the 2017 Census enumerated fewer than 2 million inhabitants.
9 Construction on this huge complex was begun in late 2016 at a time when the NAC was, except
for the Almasa Conference Center, still on drawing-​boards. The main office blocks appear,
based on June 2020 satellite images, to be mostly finished but not yet functioning.
10 The original ring road, or al-​Da’iri, designed and executed in the 1980s and 1990s, was mainly
conceived as a way to create good access to the various new town developments around Cairo
and to link the eastern with the western segments without having to traverse Cairo proper.
11 It is ironic that the “environment” and green living as concepts have been appropriated by real-​
estate developers to promote new towns in the deserts outside Cairo. See Denis (2018,19).
12 As calculated by the 10Tooba website, in the 2015–​2016 fiscal year as much was allocated in the
national budget to facilities and infrastructure in the new towns as was earmarked for similar
investments in the rest of the country!

All images are made and owned by the author from his previously published books.

References
Abu-​Lughod, J. (1971). Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
Denis, E. (2018). “Cairo’s new towns from one revolution to another”, in Angeli, M. and Malterre-​
Barthes, C., Cairo New Cities, Ruby Press. https://​hal​shs.archi​ves-​ouver​tes.fr/​hal​shs-​01755​844.
Elshahed, M. (2015). “Nasr city was once Egypt’s new capital, but things went wrong”, Cairo
Observer, 23 March 2015, https://​cairo​bser​ver.com/​post/​11439​1196​879/​nasr-​city-​was-​once-​egy​
pts-​new-​capi​tal-​but-​thi​ngs#.X3mz​0Nax​VN2.
Sims, D. (2012). Understanding Cairo: The Logic of a City out of Control. Cairo: AUC Press.
Volait, M. (2001). “Town planning schemes for Cairo conceived by Egyptian planners in the lib-
eral experiment period”, in Hans Chr. Korsholm Nielsen and Jakob Skovgaard-​Petersen (eds.),
Middle East Cities 1900-​1950. Public Places and Public Spheres in Transformation. Aarhus
University Press.

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21
(RE)CONNECTING
WITH WOUNDED SPACES
Encountering Memory, Place and Narrative
in Cairo’s Historic Landscape

Gehan Selim

The urban landscape of historic Cairo notably has shaped its inhabited core and
characterized the city’s principal identity and popular urban patterns. An established
corpus of literature testifies to the significant memory each place displays to signify
narratives of local identity.1 These places are cemented with layers of history and past
events that unintentionally seek to collectivize local memory into an imagined commu-
nity. Cairo’s historic districts are also places where memories of the past have possibly
originated and significantly cultivated urban patterns of transformation over the cen-
turies. Historians and sociological writers described these places as discrete entities that
constituted the city’s primary urban units, characterized by their clear physical bound-
aries and narrow and tangled alleyways. This typology of mobility and networking is
dominated by a compact, glued tissue of houses and two-​or three-​storey buildings
surrounded by noisy commercial and light industrial activities and traffic day and night.
They mutually comprise a characteristic element of the contemporary landscape through
their unique physical organization and spatial association with the city. For this, historic
Cairo was inscribed on the World Heritage List in 1979, recognising its unquestionable
historical, archaeological and urban importance (Figure 21.1)
The above idea narrates one of many stories and memories of people living in Bulaq
Abul ʿEla nowadays. This Cairene historic neighborhood is adjacent to Tahrir Square. It
is an exceptional place whereby its hybrid status is derived from its significance in histor-
ical events which became a common beacon of national identity and public memory. In
2018, the fourteenth-​century neighborhood turned into a series of rubble heaps, leaving
an acute post-​war feeling.2 The demolition coincided with the re-​election of the Egyptian
president Abd el-​Fattah el-​Sisi in early 2018. The demolition uncovers the wider “pol-
itical tribulations” in the neighborhood.3 Due to its geographical positioning in Cairo’s
central hub, Bulaq has been always confined to what became known as the “security
zone”, prominently sheltering activists and engaging in protracted street battles with the
police. But these incidents are not new. They happened before following a troubling series
of police raids in 1977 during president Sadat’s time, and once again in 2011 during the
Egyptian revolution riots when young activists were occupying Tahrir square. Somehow,

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-24 337

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Gehan Selim

Figure 21.1 Location of Bulaq Abul Ela in central Cairo.

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(Re)Connecting with Wounded Spaces

the long-​term endeavours to demolish Bulaq always included hidden political determin-
ation, like many other places in Cairo, to control political activism and end street politics.4
Since 2014, the government has been forcing people, in areas like Bulaq, to evacuate
their old and declining houses, which they consider uninhabitable and potentially life-​
threatening. In return, the displaced residents were normally promised new homes, once
the old ones were effectively demolished. Many families were forced to live indefinitely
on the streets below their flats, while rumors were quickly spreading that they were being
evicted to make way for real-​estate development projects. Bulldozers were erasing a host
of nineteenth-​century Khedivial buildings, which fashions Arab and European architec-
ture and styles of elegant decoration and neo-​classical columns. In fact, this was not the
first attempt to demolish the historic neighborhood, but this was an additional “story
of a negotiated failure”.5 During the 1970s, under economic reform and high migration
flows to the city, the ʿishash al Tourguman section in Bulaq had become a dangerous
place, known for its informal housing, degraded infrastructure and drug businesses. The
ʿishash6 were described as the center of anarchy and chaos following a series of riots in
Cairo on 18–​19 January 1977 against the termination of state subsidies for basic commod-
ities, leading to immediate and rapid price increases. Furious Cairene residents attacked
Sadat’s luxury lifestyle symbols like hotels, department stores and even police stations.
The ‘ishash were then criticized as the hub of a communist-​led uprising after groups of
youth activists disappeared in the crowded slums, making the mission of tracking them
impossible since the tight alleyways blocked entry of police vehicles.
Scholars claim that the “cleansing of popular life” in Cairo started during the violent
removal of ‘ishash al Tourguman and the displacement of its population. On the morning
of 29 May 1977, hundreds of families were evacuated without compensation. Replacing
the ‘ishash with high-​rise structures reinforced the state claims to eliminate signs of pov-
erty in Cairo by creating “a youthful face of Egypt”.7 The city authorities explained that
demolition would support the revamping and modernizing of the Cairene life. Relocating
a portion of its population from cruel living conditions to affordable modern housing
flats was vital to improve their living standards. For over two decades, while renewal
plans remained firmly on paper, a huge gaping hole marked the grounds of Bulaq where
the ‘ishash residents had once lived. For years, the memory and footage of the clearance
and displacement incident, police sirens and weeping toddlers were still alive. The ‘ishash
formed a narrative of unyielding power cursed by its historical facts that its residents still
track and enumerate. Their wounds bled from the heart of one of the world’s most fas-
cinating cities, where the state’s inauguration of one of its grand architectural projects
stopped at nothing in having its vision fulfilled (Figure 21.2).
This article situates its discussion of spatial memory within the idea of “absence”
in understanding Cairo’s everyday landscape. It covers a period when Cairo’s historic
districts have become empty, but full of wounds, as a result of a chain of soaring “unfin-
ished” urban transformations that never materialized.8 I discuss how wounded spaces,
marked by power, violence and exclusion, are spatialized and represented. The spati-
ality of places remarkably articulates scars that were never cured by time but are still
remembered and lived. Also, I argue that Cairo’s wounded spaces insinuate the cap-
acity that places should not remain the same socially and physically because they have
been severely threatening postcolonial imperial processes. This indicates that whatever is
deemed “traditional” –​living in urban slums, uneducated and, mostly, engaged in pol-
itical instability –​is rather less legitimate. Therefore, traditionalism is often scrutinized
in terms of its authenticity and degree of exposure. However, the reform of this reality

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Gehan Selim

to overlay new place representations, while excluding its individuals and groups, often
becomes the normative power of how we reshape our built environments.9. These
processes have taken several forms of forcible action, such as compulsory relocation of
people from their districts as one form of control over politicized spaces, with widespread
destructive implications for the physical, metaphorical and imaginative spheres. In the
following sections, I will use Michel Foucault’s genealogical analysis of power to interro-
gate the impact of politicized planning to establish the indirect tactics of manipulating
the everyday life and spatial memory of the Bulaqi people following from the Arab spring
events since 2011.10. Such power relations and state strategies are constantly probed
through one-​to-​one interviews, which are instrumental in synthesizing this research –​by
observing, witnessing, performing and expressing –​that allows me to realize the relation-
ship between the different power mechanisms.

Wounded Spaces, Modernity and the Spatial Inscriptions

Research on postcolonial urbanism in the global south has shifted towards radicalizing
the perception on how cities transmute to eliminate inconsistencies, conflict and inequality
to celebrate their inhabitants’ lived realism.11 This debate is contextualized within rooted
values of modern urban development influenced by governance and governmentality.
It is part of a quest to advance urban transformation to evoke order and sweep away
sore histories. Various models of urban development, adopted by the West, usually
tend to romanticize its rebranding outcomes, mostly impacting its inhabitants’ everyday
encounters and practices. These renewal ventures proclaimed new urban and spatial real-
ities, not only to challenge undesirable physical conditions but to also erase attachments
and memories of these places.12 A pertinent model is the account of Europe’s urban
transformation during the nineteenth century, which aimed equally at materializing con-
trol of public spaces to create cities “occupied by the higher social strata, a showcase of
comfort and modernity”.13. In addition, we observe many examples exhibiting how cities
are tacitly privileged by simulating their neighbourhoods as parcels of land connected
by networks of economy; but on the contrary, inhabited neighbourhoods emerge as
blank entities discounted from prospective development, and leaving residents portrayed
as victims. We find urban sociologists and geographers retrieving conceptualizations of
places, which vary from the so-​called slums to luxury theme parks and CBDs, as an inte-
gration within the city but not, peculiarly, as an add-​on.14
From a postcolonial perception, imagining the city involves the understanding of
universal systems of everyday existence, urban political life, agitation and disorientated
mobilization of people who become the supreme victims. According to Henri Lefebvre,
such socially constructed spaces offer individuals their membership links with the place,
its buildings and streets grasped as a sign of the legendary nature of the place, one that is
as important as the condition of those who lived there.15 These bonds remain memorized
across time mostly through material objects that presumably last much longer than
we do. Yet, this idea remains unchallenged. But when subject to massive destruction,
mobilization and relocation, dense urban spaces inhabited by inherent localities become
impaired by spatial relations and social trauma imposed by state violence. A singular
“outside event does not shape such spaces”; rather, they are shaped by forms of consist-
ently set authority over many years, and continue to structure present spatial and social
networks and structure prospects of what is considered the everyday normal. Similar
to several postcolonial localities, the wipe-​out of live places has printed its scars on its

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landscape and haunted its residents with wounds of past glories, whether they accepted
it or not. Such wounds reflect a condition of self-​remembrance and collective memory
embedded in the physicality structure of spatial order, which are also far from external
forces of colonial practices and their aftermath.16 Places such as Bulaq turned into an
iconic symbol where local identity was an incipient political project against social and col-
lective memory that exhibits problematic and disturbing conditions. It became a territory
where “geographical space has been torn and fractured by violence and exile”, shaping a
state of the newness of physical and social realities that reproduces altered visual images
integrated with modern cultural expressions and secured environments.17 One of the
modern movement’s ambitions was to instil unique social and cultural ideals through
rebuilding cities according to new design principles.18 This axiom meant that perfected
and branding schemes will lead to more civilized behaviour and to augmenting a sense of
community to integrate private residential spaces with the rebranding of the public space
itself. Similarly, the reproduction of modern neighborhoods in Cairo is theorized and
practiced under the pretext of creating liveable and socially interactive spaces in modern
Egypt’s new urban context. It is a practice of redefining an entire structure of the compre-
hensive social domain, including social interaction, communication and behavior within
a specific urban context. This means reviewing current conditions and their problems
and setting new targets and priorities. Modern theorists associate the discourse with the
mobility and advancement of transportation and information technology for creating
what Bauman called a “Liquid Modernity”.19 The search for modernity, when linked to
the discourse of rebranding old areas like Bulaq, becomes problematic for its apparent
ideological and spatial conflict, such as the need for better accessibility versus the trad-
itional sense of enclosure, modern lifestyle versus old practices, the sense of a contem-
porary domain versus the historical sense.
Such conflicts, nevertheless, do not exclude the inhabitants from carving out a practice
of modern life. According to social studies research, it is practiced through their adapt-
ability methods in a form whereby modernity does not conflict with their indigenous
values.20. Several scholars, for example, showed that images of modernity are displayed
more in everyday life practices of traditional neighborhoods than in the self-​proclaimed
modernity of the state.21 Bulaq is one example to present a modern image which could
be represented in rebranding Cairo to define new spaces of flow.22 Although this logically
means that new parts of the city could better participate in making this image, the old
district was viewed as a possible channel for constituting a global image; a flow of daily
movement in and out the traditional context is predicted, thereby becoming enhanced
and improved.23.
Michel Foucault’s theories on power and control of space show that modern govern-
ance similarly capitalizes on space’s authority as a form of power.24. It also reveals the
state’s position in operating different security apparatuses to safeguard citizens and their
sense of safety by preventing crime and handing over perpetrators to judicial authorities
for prosecution. We find that existential insecurity is politically manipulated to increase
the control of space. Violence, for instance, is presented to the public as a case of national
security rather than safety to curtail the public sphere and influence the community per-
ception of fear.25. In addition, the concept of “striated” spaces developed by Deleuze and
Guattari provides more profound insights into understanding the confines of the dissent
of everyday life where “lines or trajectories tend to be subordinated to points: one goes
from one point to another.”26 Such spatiality eventually displays multiple forms of resist-
ance towards disciplinary powers. When spatial encounters are understood in this way,

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they appear as something that cannot be forgotten. Still, it could be altered into a nor-
malization form of the everyday collective memory and struggle to survive.
Speculating the city from such a perspective allows us to pay attention to memorable
forms of urban political life, everyday endurance, rebellion and creative tactical practices
that animate Cairo and make it liveable. Hence, this article builds on and adds to the
discussions on alternative models of the city by interrogating the concept of wounded
spaces, memory and intergenerational places’ evolution. Such spaces are associated with
authoritarianism and violent trauma. In this chapter, Bulaq, as a place of inhabitation,
is studied as a wounded place, and also a place providing an atmosphere of care. Here,
Cairo’s historical sites must be understood as inhabited worlds instilled with numerous
value forms, rather than their attachment to capitalist states of economic flows.

The Scares on Empty Spaces

We still remember that day when the police suddenly surrounded the area and
forced the people to leave their houses; the men bravely fought the police officers,
the women were screaming, but they forced them to leave in the end.27

How do spatial and temporal memories of places relate to the past or articulate narratives
of present human experiences? How do people living in a traumatized neighborhood like
Bulaq differentiate between their current lives and the strong connections with the past
which precedents of historical events evoke? The furious escape of the young protestors
in the 1977 riots emerged as a severe challenge to the state. In contrast, the older gener-
ation of Bulaqis still recall the police’s extensive presence and failed attempts to seize the
“vulnerable boys” who vanished in the slums of Bulaq, known as ‘Ishash al-​Tourguman.
And in fact, they proudly admit their generosity, bravery and care in helping them escape
the vicious raid on the district. But since that time, the state discourse has regimented
them under actions of symbolic violence, as lawbreakers and criminals, with the district
portrayed as a center for drug trafficking and illegal activities.28.
Al-​Tourguman is one of 18 sections of the Bulaq neighborhood. It is a deprived area
that randomly expanded in the district following the peasant working-​class migration
waves to Cairo during the late 19th century. The place was initially established by Ali
Bek al Tourguman, a Turkish merchant who modified its infrastructure and managed
its tenet system until his death. During the 1890s, the Ministry of Public Works pri-
vately sold wealthy stockholders, including Ali Bek, vast swathes of vacant land out-
side Bulaq’s east-​west border to construct new developments to aid with the absorption
of Cairo’s migrant workers. After Egypt’s defeat in the 1967 war, nationwide concerns
were raised following the suspension of special government housing projects, notably
when daily newspapers published images of entire communities living in emergency
shelters after several evacuation incidents. These settlements were built as temporary
housing schemes to shelter homeless people whose houses were seriously damaged or
had collapsed as they awaited housing allocation in new residential settlements. By this
time, al-​Tourguman gradually became dominated by shanty constructs built with light
materials and wood leftovers and lacking water and electricity supply and basic hygiene
resources. Hundreds of families were crammed into homes that were “only corners of
single rooms that accommodate all the functions of the household members”.29 The
narrow alleyways quickly turned into hives of illegitimate practices, which later became
popularly known as ‘Ishash al Tourguman.

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Plans to develop Bulaq in 1979 proposed apportioning several sections into large
plots under government control. Foreign and local investors were endorsed to launch
new investment projects as per the planning scheme recommendations, but no plots were
sold. This failure was attributed to financial constraints and professional shortcomings in
the project’s feasibility study, which had estimated that evacuation and relocation would
cost the governorate approximately 36 million L.E. After clearing the site, however, costs
soared to 100 million L.E. Besides, the plot sizes were massively huge because the gov-
ernment assumed that this would promote their saleability and cover the cost of building
new houses for displaced residents. In fact, the plots were unaffordable because the site
was still surrounded by poor buildings, warehouses and unplanned streets. Planners
opposing the ‘ishash demolishing explained that the scheme was problematic and not
feasible. They stated that the in-​filling scheme to impose multi-​storey towers was a guar-
anteed failure and a naive resolution to represent Cairo in a modern image and apply
order to what was thought to be a different reality in Bulaq –​the poor’s existence versus
that of the wealthy. This corresponds more closely to Timothy Mitchell’s world as an
exhibition30 (Figure 21.2).
The anticipated result of schemes of this nature was that new housing targets were not
met, leaving entire areas in Bulaq filled with empty land and absent residents. This was
perceived as a kind of political resistance that formed a different landscape for which it
was planned and continued for more than 30 years after the demolition. It was a land-
mark of failure to set unrealistic plans for change, especially when businessmen later

Figure 21.2 Uncleared ‘ishash in Bulaq.

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Gehan Selim

admitted that the area was not suitable for investment. On the contrary, the residents
described how people no longer communicated in their previous healthy social networks
and everyday encounters. Despite al Tourguman’s vibrant and ideal location for CBD
investment, it developed into an outcast ghetto and fostered greater isolation from
the city’s urban life than ever before.31 The state’s transparency and reliability have
always been challenged, particularly when communicating political messages through
government-​driven schemes like this. Similarly, forcible eviction was a tool used by the
state to expel the residents with no underlying plans to rehouse them, something that has
been happening again since 2018.
The evicted lands remained empty for a long time. Apparently, there were no hotels,
no restaurants, no high-​rise buildings, and no businessmen willing to invest in the area.32
There were also signs that Bulaq residents became more alert in resisting prospect raids
to eradicate other parts of the neighborhood. For many of the relocated population, the
empty land signified the Egyptian bureaucracy’s typical failure to deliver what it promises.
They felt that the government only attempted to kick them out and was never serious
about investing in the area. The evacuated lands were not suitable for hotels and high-​rise
buildings. Despite that, the clearance of the rest of Bulaq was paused after Sadat’s death.
But the fact that his strategies were materialized into physical forms provides critical
insights into examining how endeavors like this are still implemented in different parts of
Cairo until today, and how these practices are even reshaping the urban space and con-
tinue to influence the lives of thousands of Cairene families.
Strangers from neighboring areas and different parts of Cairo added a new type of
social mixing which influenced the empty lands and surrounding spaces. The new spa-
tial settings supported restructuring the interaction between the residents and, in par-
ticular, others, and the way they observed public space. Growing restrictions on access
and freedom epitomized this shift to using public spaces following the evacuation, mostly
driven by fear. The emotional feelings of belonging to al Tourguman were symbolized in a
way that connected its residents with the past and appeared to show a collective reference
that articulates its support for state policing actions. Certainly, the unknown future made
for stress among the remaining Bulaqi families, and they were aware that they would be
subject to similar traumatic situations at any time, and were actually prepared for it. They
were also aware that forced evacuation was also going ahead in other neighborhoods in
the city, like in the ‘Ayn Hilwan dwellings of old Cairo, al-​Marg and al-​Warraq areas.
These and other unforeseen incidents were aired in the media, showing armed police
surrounding these houses to evacuate families by force.

Remembering the Old Memories

The literature on collective memory demonstrates how past experiences become genu-
inely tangled with social networks and urban landscapes. Memory happens in the present
to inform our customary and habitual relationships and everyday life, and is not separate
from its physical materialization. It is not surprising to observe controversial viewpoints
among social groups when they remember and reminisce narratives of their glorious lives
in the past. They ordinarily manage to link their stories and recitals with places and phys-
ical objects to formulate a thread of memory that may or may not be sites that witnessed
suffering or disturbance. Yet, the place and its object dimensions and attributes become
the most durable part of this fabric through remembrance objects. Urban spaces filled
with buildings and streets signify physical evidence of the individual social networks and

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practices. Like urban renewal or changing landscapes, some memorized projects attempted
to obstruct public dialogue and are regarded as signs of forgetting the past, with an
entire community disappearing and leaving behind its physical manifestations: buildings
and spaces. Yet, spaces cannot mysteriously embody memories by the quality of their
existence, just as the city cannot disclose history without supporting narratives. Societies
retain their memory through the continuous and sustainable performance of acts, rituals
and normative social behavior.
Urban places hold meanings that transcend their forms as authored representations
of the past by which social groups encounter them. The wounds of al Tourguman arose
through conflicting histories, and as zones of transition and social change to materialize
transformation. The scars also grew through its residents. These are not only the groups
that suffered the outgrowths of dispossession, but also those who witnessed and heard
about the razed demolition and opposed state violence and the trauma of displacement.
Under the increasing spread of differences in postmodern societies, class and social seg-
regation follow distinct pathways and occupy different city zones, so that the wealthy
hardly encounter the “unwanted” others.33 Undeniably, this idea will never arise without
visions of a strong country protecting its citizens from the “unwanted” beyond its bound-
aries, “changing in this sense our rooted sympathies of what constitutes the public to
legitimate new forms of urban structures through environmental change, behavior modi-
fication and stringent policing” (ibid.). Mindy Thompson Fullilove referred to what she
called the “root shock” that threatens any person’s ability to function just as much as
when they lose vast amounts of blood, simply because we all have strong social and
emotional links with the places we inhabit.34 Thus, for us, a place always develops as a
protective shelter for our social and ecosystem associations. These qualities are not about
local forms of controlling or claiming the place, but they are about the relationships and
associations of emotional and sentimental networks that provide concrete meaning to
a citizen’s experience, one that associates more widely with place than human subjects
themselves.35. This perception opens different channels to express and communicate tan-
gible emotions about places and render their distinguished histories.
The ‘ishash became an anchor for its former residents’ sense of belonging after the
relocation incident and took precedence over other associations. But the remaining fam-
ilies became vital raconteurs of the conflict and its aftermath. Several members from the
elderly population in Bulaq remembered or witnessed the armed police confrontation
in the 70s. They described how state actions disturbed their deep-​rooted relations to the
geographies of the place. The inequalities produced in this process created odd grounds
for people who did not understand why their neighbours had been banished for several
years. Despite living in slums, their ingrained habits, practices and cultures signified a
sustainable process of a collective settlement, communicating a powerful social message
that they were affiliated groups that felt highly safe and secure.36

Safety and Social Belonging

A street in traditional Cairene neighborhoods needs to be contextualized as a func-
tional public space instead of one associated with a series of voids between buildings.37
Adopting the concept of inclusive design, planners have aligned themselves with maxi-
mizing the accessibility of an area to ease traffic flow, thereby facilitating control of
crime and making people’s daily life more enjoyable.38 The expression that “there must
be an eye on the street” can be attributed to Jane Jacobs’s relationship between safety and

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Gehan Selim

urban design: a natural form of surveillance through increasing the number of people
keeping an eye on it.39. Busy public spaces filled with the active life of street vendors
and shops encourage people’s presence and contribute to the prevention of crime and
unfavorable behaviors. Besides, the tight alleyways of Cairo perform several signifi-
cant social functions. First, high pedestrian activity rates reinforce community bonds
and promote a greater sense of place. But this was widely criticized in many relocation
projects, especially those commenced in the Islamic city in Old Cairo. For example, the
transfer of the textile shops was seen as harmful to the visual characteristics of Islamic
urban life. Second, street spaces are an active domain for their residents’ activities and
social interaction. Despite pervasive poverty and economic problems, the busy street
life in traditional areas like Bulaq is an important feature that distinguishes them from
other modern districts in Cairo. These urban spaces are formed by a specially built
structure, characterized by mixed use, high residential population and a dense urban
environment.
As their primary source of safety, Cairo’s people often prefer busy residential streets
that are abundant with life and activities. In contrast, spaces that are not inhabited are
believed to be unsafe. The phrase street wanass, meaning that the area is highly populated
and full of activities, and therefore safe, is commonly used.40 Streets in these areas accom-
modate various social activities, such as wedding ceremonies, socializing with neighbors
and the sale of various goods, collectively creating a community sense. Different residen-
tial buildings and houses have retail stores on their ground levels, with these commercial
and industrial activities adding to the sense of security. But since the demolition and
clearance, residents started to fear walking in the streets at late hours because during the
night time it becomes “full of strangers”41 (Figure 21.3).
The street network hierarchy and settings in Bulaq form a complex spatial organ-
ization that defines the community’s lived spaces as a social space within a set of rules
that regulate their everyday communal life.42 These spaces are characterized by intri-
cate patterns of daily sociability which have always been governed by the houses’ prox-
imity to each other. In addition, this was due to the limited street widths and housing
units that brought adjacent families into close contact in everyday interaction. From the
authorities’ perspective, the residents’ presence appears to be harmful to tourists, in some
way. Various signs of power are easily spotted, such as the barriers, the security and
police officers, and the traffic signs proclaiming the privatization to inhibit people from
accessing the street. Despite that, the installation of some light barriers does not hinder
people from walking by, while a signage notice was put up to announce that this was a
private area, and security personnel were visible in many locations.43
In addition, the residents’ reminiscences on the hardships of living in the ‘ishash were
closely related to the housing conditions described as “ruins”. However, they always cited
their easy access to other parts of Cairo, marketplaces and cheap goods. They noted that
“when our past neighbors baked something, the good smell would reach us from a dis-
tance and we would share the food. People tended to eat together and support each other
during difficult times”. Local vendors also utilized al Tourguman properties to sell street
food and fresh vegetables. Others used the alleyways’ curbs to retail their home-​based
goods or set up ovens for basic bakery. The area continued to be a hub for young teenagers
to meet and socialize. While these activities gradually encouraged people’s presence in the
past, the area became dark, empty and unsafe for young children and women, particu-
larly at night when its original dwellers were displaced. Yet, the remaining Bulaqis always
offered and provided assistance when needed. People were still ready to help prevent a

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(Re)Connecting with Wounded Spaces

Figure 21.3 Daily sociability and connected networks of people in Bulaq.

fight or protect a child. Being seen by others provided social control that allowed more
freedom of movement for women and legitimized their interaction with men.

Economy and Use of Public Space

“The charm of these places does not come uniquely from the venerable historical
monuments or buildings, but derives also from the activities of the merchants and the life
which surrounds them”.44
Mixed land use in Bulaq is an additional attribute of Cairo’s traditional character
that was historically constructed through time and space. The extensive distribution
of commercial activities along main streets is a common aspect structured within two
main patterns: commercial or trade-​based zones and on-​street retail shops and vendors.
They have been developed as a spontaneous response to a series of long-​term social
arrangements for the local community’s good. Bulaq has long been popular for its well-​
known market of Wikalat al-​Balah, the heart of Cairo’s fabric and textile trade, whose
name is used interchangeably to identify Bulaq. The Wikalah adds to the authenticity of
the district and the history of the place. It is incredibly crowded and active, selling clothes,
fabrics, curtains, textiles and even car parts at low prices. This market was a further devel-
opment of the commercial and trade activities that were once associated with the histor-
ical port of Bulaq. This busy trade hub served Cairo for a millennium. With such a long
commercial and trading history, Bulaq is yet to lose its distinctive character though still
attracting middle-​and low-​income Cairenes.

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Gehan Selim

Figure 21.4 Street spaces characterized by complex styles of trade and housing.

On-​street shops are central spaces that accommodate many social activities by selling
various food products, such as fresh vegetables and fish. These trade activities provide the
primary source of income for many families living in the area. This is similar to the case
of many home-​based industries, like sewing, cooking traditional food, or roasting corn,
allowing local people to gain reasonable profit at a minimal cost. In most cases, these on-​
street sellers gather in a trendy and busy area, such as Souq al ‘Asr Street. Vendors believe
that the spacious street allows them room to display their goods to a larger number of
people, through small kiosks or spreading of mats to display the goods on the pavement.45
Over time, street junctions and crossings become very busy, and vendors compete for a
better display of their goods. The main problem is that all such vendors are illegal. They
are supposed to get a license to use busy pedestrian traffic pathways and sell there, which
is almost impossible to obtain.46 This unclear situation is behind the frequent raids by
the local authorities and the police to clear pedestrian routes of vendors and arrest those
without permits, which, effectively, means everyone. All goods and products displayed
are seized; therefore, at the moment the authorities arrive, most illegal sellers frantically
start packing their goods away, trying to save whatever they can47 (Figure 21.4).
Such unresolved situations explain how the residents associate their living spaces and
daily activity with their work, trade and domestic economy. An old vendor in Bulaq
noted that the “stability of the local trade activities leads to the stability of the residents
and their financial security”.48 An elderly explained that his family, living in the same
building, runs his shop. The liveability of the district’s public spaces is constituted by
the people’s social interaction and mixed activity, whilst most resident-​run businesses

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(Re)Connecting with Wounded Spaces

are usually locally oriented and based on local customers’ needs.49 Non-​resident owners,
who can change their business location according to financial viability, usually run other
businesses that tend to be reasonably stable. Here, the economy is separated from the
living, and hence there is more flexibility to change or to relocate. Government officials
view these local businesses as the main obstacles to development and regard them as
slowing down the district’s improvement, particularly the commercial area of Wikalat
al-​Balah. The state media presented the residents’ activities and behavior as ugliness and
disorder to secure public support for the relocation projects. Since 2006, and in prepar-
ation for new developments anticipated for the area, all mobile and outdoor trade activ-
ities have been forbidden, including vendors and pedlars, and the particular areas were
daily targeted by security personnel. Commercial activities were only permitted within
either a shop or a proper space. There was informal approval granted to certain people
who maintained good connections with officials, who consequently turned a blind eye
to their violations.50 However, current restrictions on vendors and their activities have
proved effective in eradicating many undesirable economic patterns. The Wikalah, the
main traditional outlet, however, has been relocated to one of the city’s outskirt sites,
which in effect caused a radical change to local economic patterns in Bulaq.

Conclusion
This chapter focused on spatial memory and the absence of physical constructs and
human interactions that shape Cairo’s everyday landscape. I discussed how persistent
and unjustified modernization projects in the city were thought to end political activism.
But in reality, these projects had an immense impact on the urban poor and their living
spaces, allowing me to describe them as empty and wounded. Al-​Tourguman and other
similar areas in Cairo represented places where local people’s involvement has remained
a significant social and political issue which over time has caused some local conflicts.
These battles over the urban landscape then emerge as major struggles for the indi-
vidual belonging, community meaning and national identity. The act of displacement
and destruction of social and spatial memory is about moving people from one place
to another and how it affects life and socio-​spatial relationships within the local com-
munity. Places marked by scars and wounds not only exist as imaginary and physical
locales but endure as “behaviors and occasions for memory and intervention”.51 While
everyday exemplified knowledge of inhabited places is taken for granted, eviction enables
spectators to possess firmer bonds with their former living place based on attachments
that disengaged them from their childhood connections. In all ways, some residents who
resided in the ‘ishash gave rise to another level of loss. They formed a lasting and inveterate
account that became steadily envisioned after the immediate demolition wounds. Still,
the indigenous stabilization of communities is fragmented once places are demolished.
The Bulaq residents, through their stories, raised moral inquiries about the politics of
place-​making driven by urban upgrading. They called attention to their association with
the place, its mental memory and inspiration in making a just and extraordinary life. They
also disputed the invisible status the control and authority imposed on them while having
no state-​building capacity. Yet, a commendable survival model over almost four decades
since the traumatic incident documents their story of persistence and survival through
everyday encounters, thereby maintaining collective and individual rights to their city.
They also established their social and customary practices with vibrant places which are
evidence of their cognitive and emotional attachments, spatial and social memories, and

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Gehan Selim

fragile social systems. Nevertheless, their accounts always reveal a bounded self-​tension
between recognizing state brutality and anxieties about the unknown future they face
when hoping to survive. Moreover, in facing the demolition and their way of everyday
life, Bulaqi youth engaged in formal and alternative modes of resistance to display their
antagonism and struggle to deal with the complex challenges imposed on them. For
example, to defend their threatened identity, they created a graffiti campaign to use wall
art to inscribe a slogan that says: “yes to development, no to forced evictions –​Naʿam
lel tatweer, la lel taghiyyr”. This was a clear message to declare the residents’ position
towards the development plans while not opposing the upgrading efforts.
New forms of public memory could be structured and transferred among communi-
ties through intergenerational social outreach that allows social stability and security,
despite the ongoing ruptures of geographical exclusion and segregation. However, it is
suggested that place memory is usually a complicated case to resolve. Communities com-
monly represent themselves through their social and physical environments but will not
perpetually accept a saddening and traumatic past. Indeed, when individuals return to
places that have witnessed turbulent events, they find themselves caught in distressing
memories of the past, with living emotional attachments. Likewise, displaced groups
manage to revisit their friends and relatives back in the ‘ishash, and some will even still
shop from traders they used to know. This is why social change needs to be counted as
both harm and opportunity, especially when massive portions of the new city become
detached from other older paces.
Bulaq is one of many places in Cairo that resonates a fair spirit and representation
of its ongoing story of struggle to maintain its unique and authentic physical and aes-
thetic position. Therefore, it will be inadequate to narrate Cairo without engaging and
connecting with its current discourses. Modernizing the city leads to eliminating its his-
torical fabric, whether intentionally or not, while leaving its core in a state of neglect.
And for this reason, Cairo will remain an extraordinary exemplar for exploring its locals’
responses to global conditions in a manner that may be accelerating its physical decline.

Notes
1 J.L. Abu-​Lughod (1979); N. AlSayyad (2011); E.A. Early (1993); D. Singerman, P. Amar and
P.E. Amar (2006) Cairo cosmopolitan: politics, culture, and urban space in the new globalized
Middle East. American University in Cairo Press.
2 L. Sarant (2010) Evictions, delayed relocation and conspiracy in Bulaq. www.egypt​inde​pend​
ent.com/​evicti​ons-​dela​yed-​rel​ocat​ion-​and-​con​spir​acy-​bulaq/​.
3 See D. Wahba (2020).
4 G. Selim (2016); S. Ismail (2012); A. Bayat (2012).
5 D. Wahba (2020).
6 The ‘‘ishash (singular: ‘isha; plural ‘ishash) are slum areas found in Bulaq, such as al-​Tourguman
and Sharkas, which are of a notably low standard of construction. These are built from light
materials and leftover wood and have several entrances with no electricity or infrastructure
sewages. In Bulaq, clusters of attached ‘‘ishash form large-​scale areas of these slums accommo-
dating several thousand people, and often located on the district’s periphery. They also comprise
narrow alleyways cut into informal lands seized from the government.
7 F. Ghannam (2002), p. 31.
8 G. Selim (2016).
9 J. Davies (2014).
10 M. Foucault (2012).
11 A. Simone (2010).
12 A. Blunt and C. McEwan (2002); N. Ellin (1999).

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13 M. Castells (1972).
14 A. Simone (2010), pp. 25–​44.
15 H. Lefebvre (1991).
16 A. Kearney (2012).
17 D.B. Rose (1996), p. 191.
18 P. Katz, V.J. Scully and T.W. Bressi (1994).
19 Z. Bauman (2000).
20 F. Ghannam (2002).
21 M. Abaza (2014); Cole (2002).
22 D. Harvey (2018).
23 F. Ghannam (2002), p. 18.
24 M. Foucault (1982).
25 S. Zukin (1995).
26 G. Deleuze and F. Guattari (1999).
27 Interview [R19.12].
28 F. Ghannam (2002).
29 A. Rugh (1979), p. 47.
30 T. Mitchell (1988).
31 P. Marcuse (1997).
32 F. Ghannam (2002), p. 40.
33 D. Mitchell (2003).
34 M.T. Fullilove (2016).
35 J. Bennett (2005), p. 10.
36 G. Selim (2017).
37 P. Calthorpe (1993).
38 Theories and writings of Foucault, for example, had inspired planners on issues of criminality.
39 J. Jacobs (1961), p. 38.
40 F. Ghannam (2002) p. 82.
41 Interview [R9.11].
42 S. Ismail (2006), p. 13.
43 Interview [R2.2.11].
44 See Samir, cited in William (2006), p. 286.
45 Interview [R2.11].
46 Interview [R17.11].
47 Interview [R13.11].
48 Interview [R6.11].
49 Interview [R16.14].
50 Interview [R2.11].
51 J. Roach (1996), p. xi.

All figures are by the author, otherwise are public domain images.

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Ghannam, F. (2002). Remaking the Modern: Space, Relocation, and the Politics of Identity in a
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Ismail, S. (2012). The Egyptian Revolution against the police. Social Research, 79(2), 435–​462.
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22
AN UNTOLD URBAN
NARRATIVE
Transcending Gender, Culture and
Modernity in Cairo’s Old Quarters

Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

Narratives of Cairo’s urban life can only be understood from inside, through
interconnected layers of socio-​cultural and economic mobility of its communities, its
spatial structure, social coherence and adjustment over long periods of transitions,
migrations and displacement. The archaeology of its built heritage is centered on the
understanding of human experiences, history and narratives through the historic fabric,
structures and remains. Medieval Cairo offers a unique insight into the progress and
evolution of the city’s millennium socio-​cultural evolution, shedding a spotlight on what
shapes the culture, behavior and memory of the today’s city. It is easy to overlook the
fact that a gigantic cosmopolitan Cairo today owes much of the roots of urban life, cul-
ture and economy to its medieval core. In their preservation of its history, policies have
largely ignored the economic, industrial and spatial logic of the old quarters, limiting our
understanding of that history to the fabric of its historic structures and ruling elites. We
have limited knowledge on how families and ordinary Cairenes worked and lived into the
ageing fabric renewing its viability and relevance to the livelihoods of the Cairenes for
centuries. In Nasser Rabat’s terms, it is the culture of building that informed the building
of culture. Obsessed with modernity and European examples of the 19th century, Egypt’s
modern rulers had an uncompromising belief in modernity as a departure from the
medieval past and as central to their urban projects and legacy. Instead of learning and
engaging with its legacy or movement, migrations and cohabitation, Cairo’s modernity
looked for foreign inspiration, overlooking its legacy and stories of success.
Cairo today is a true reflection of its legacy of society in motion, an accumulation of
waves of migrations, settlements and frequently rising and disappearing political and eco-
nomic centers. By the end of the nineteenth century, Cairo had witnessed two of the most
contrasting urban forms sitting side by side: European and rich Ismaʿili Cairo bordering
the historic medieval fabric from the west. This duality was captured by a disappointed
Stanley Lane-​Poole in his little-​known book, The Story of Cairo in 1902: “There are two
Cairos, distinct in character, though but slenderly in size. There is a European Cairo, and
there is an Egyptian Cairo. The last one was El-​Qahira, the victorious, it is now so little
conquering, indeed has become so subdued … in truth European Cairo knows little of

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-25 353

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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

its medieval sister”.1 A more disappointed sibling, Sophie Lane-​Poole, 60 years earlier
dismissed Muhammad Ali’s brutal vision for changing the city; “Cairo, therefore, will no
longer be an Arab city, and will no longer possess those peculiarities which render it so
picturesque and attractive”.2
Such duality was never limited to the 19th century. As I argued elsewhere, Cairo’s long
history always comprised the two universes of the elite and the ordinary, the rulers and the
ruled living in distinctive quarters.3 Cairo never existed as a singular urban entity with the
hierarchical structure of society until the 20th century. The Khedive Ismaʿil’s project of
Paris over the Nile was a glaring demonstration of the obsession of the rulers with mod-
ernity and European image at the time.4 From the early capital of Al-​Fustat to this day,
Cairo was formed on a dual coexistence of elite versus ordinary quarters or settlements
and has reflected their distance from the ruler’s center of power with flow and mobility
of trade and economy that keep bringing the latter closer to the former, who will eventu-
ally move further away.5 This was largely seen in the evolution and expansion of the local
communities and Hawari (Harat; sing. Harah, which sometimes designates alleyways in
the Egyptian context) that were associated with a certain trade or craft groups. Being the
home for migration waves, the Hawari, already congested spaces with working-​class com-
munities, were subject to the increasing pressure of these rural migration waves.6 They
occupied roofs of houses and vacant plots, creating the ʿIshash and Ahwash (temporary
structures within empty lots and courtyards), pushing rich merchants away, and moving
the Hawari down the social ladder, leaving them struggling for finance and resources.
Amongst the plethora of literature on Cairo’s history, the predominant focus was
the elitist city, its style, evolution and landmark architecture. Little work was done to
understand the socio-​spatial transitions of the Hawari (the Alleyways) into lower-​class
and marginalized settlements during the 19th and 20th centuries. Under siege by the
modern development of Ismaʿili Cairo, the decline of the courtyard houses and the
social standing of the Hawari was inevitable. The new structure and limited affordability
prompted a subsequent change in the built fabric, the physical characteristics of resi-
dential buildings. Large courtyard houses disappeared and were replaced with compact
multi-​storey houses.7 Introverted organization of homes was turned inside-​out with more
exposure and reliance on large openings overlooking the alleyways, leading to more
fundamental socio-​cultural changes. The notion of home in Cairo is made socially and
spatially of meaningful structure, of proximity, interrelationships and social support
systems, in which women were the central influence. Women, in this sense, have always
been central in shaping such an environment and ecosystem of urban survival. In this
chapter, I examine the narratives of the Hawari of medieval Cairo as places of living and
a representation of ideological and cultural transformation throughout the 19th cen-
tury. It looks at the vision, meaning, rituals and fabric of the Old City, both as places of
memory and history and as everyday living in the contemporary city.

The Making of the Hawari’s Socio-​Spatial Urban Form

The history of the Hawari goes back to the foundation of the early Islamic capital of
Egypt, Al-​Fustat, in 641. They developed throughout the period from 969 to 1863 and
spanned the boundaries of historical Cairo built during the Fatimid, Ayyubid, Mamluk
and Ottoman periods. While the tribal structure had dominated their early forma-
tion, they started to host workers, migrants and people from other groups to satisfy
their local needs, services and economy throughout the middle ages. They were soon

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An Untold Urban Narrative

classified according to the dominant activity, such as haret al-​Sukkareyah, which was
the site with sugar trade (Sukkar); Al-​Nahaseen was the location for coppersmiths, while
haret al-​Yahud (Jews) was named after the majority of its Jewish residents (97%) and
was dominated by moneychangers (sarraf) and financial transactions.8. Similarly, haret
al-​Nasara (Christians) was known as the home of clerks and public writers, with four out
of ten Copts registered in this profession (1848 consensus).
Made of a series of weaving and dead-​end alleyways, the medieval quarter comprises a
tight, maze-​like urban form, with active social interaction, activities and support. By the
end of Al-​Fustat’s lifetime, the Hawari forms and fabric were developed to include three-​
storey houses, with some houses extending to six or seven storeys by 985.9. According to
Naser-​I Khusrau, there were buildings of 14 storeys in Al-​Fustat by the eleventh century.10.
However, the excavations of Bahgat and Baer revealed to a large extent how the organiza-
tion of street networks and the arrangements of residential clusters were extremely com-
plex (Figure 22.1). The medieval history of the city records 200,000 migrants moving to
the elitist city in the 12th century, after the blaze of the then densely populated Al-​Fustat
during crusade wars. Following the dispersal of this massive wave of people to Cairo, the
royal city began to experience overpopulation, with the urgent need to house newcomers
along with a shortage of available spaces and limited resources within its walls. The con-
struction inside the city walls introduced a pattern of infill and replacement that had
changed the spatial structure of Cairo, introducing the dense and congested urban com-
munities of the Hawari. The congestion and overpopulation by lower classes prompted
Salahuddin to move the ruler’s palace to the Citadel, leading to a transition of the elite
residence southwards towards the citadel (Figure 22.2).

Figure 22.1 A sketch drawing of Medieval Cairo from a distance.

Public domain. Courtesy of Egyptian Geographic Society.

355
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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

Figure 22.2 Mobility of elites’ residences in Old Cairo between 1293 and the end of the 18th
century.
Courtesy: Raymond 1998.

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An Untold Urban Narrative

Muhammad Ali followed suit by building an array of palaces and factories away
from the Medieval city. His grandson Khedive Ismaʿil’s expansion of European Cairo
during the second half of the 19th century was the most radical urban development plan
of the pre-​modern era, which affected every fabric of the Cairene hara and its structure.
With the constant persuasion and incentives to move into the European quarters, trade
merchants and leading scholars moved to the modern quarters, leaving behind ageing
and under-​serviced urban units. To facilitate such a vision and plan of a European-​style
image of Cairo, a raft of legislation was introduced, chiefly controlling building activ-
ities, setting building regulations and standards of design, and giving guidelines for
modifying or maintaining existing houses.11 Parallel to the growth of its western sister,
Medieval Cairo was deeply affected and slowly changed into more of a place of poverty
and overcrowded working-​class communities. From one side, the social structure of local
areas was significantly changing, from another, governmental departments implemented
a heavy-​handed policy and controls over the built environment and use of public spaces
to enforce a specific European stereotype image.12
At the turn of the 20th century, Cairo was struggling to define its identity socially,
culturally and ideologically between those two extremes (Figure 22.3). The harah’s pos-
ition as an important socio-​economic unit was compromised, whilst the well-​established
and maintained Ismaʿilia (European) Cairo was moving into the future. In this cultural
and social confusion was a decisive movement of ideological and cultural tension and
contradictions that are still as relevant today as they were over a century ago: what would
a modern Cairo look like; what culture and identity should it adopt? The open-​minded,
progressive and outward-​looking city that is European in image and outlook; or the more
locally grounded, conservative and religiously driven one? At the center of this debate
were the position and liberation of the women’s movement that remains, ironically, as
topical today as it was then. At the center of Ismaʿil’s dream was a modern and attractive
Parisian-​Cairo.13

Women of Old Cairo: Role of Women in Driving Modern Culture in Cairo

Urban women of the artisanal, middle and upper classes appear in the court
records throughout the Middle East as heirs, Naziras, Waqifas, and active
buyers, and sellers of real estate. (p. 46)
In the Economic realm, women’s situation is less ambiguous. They [elite
women in 18th century Cairo] were able to exercise their property rights and
their waqfiyyat show. Women endowed various types of income-​producing prop-
erty, including urban-​commercial, residential, and agricultural property. Some
women … had property holdings that rivalled those of the wealthiest of the
merchants. (p. 47)14

With Ismaʿili Cairo taking shape and matching its European counterparts at the turn
of the 20th century, there was a fundamental change to the cultural scene of the city
shaping its enlightenment movement. Inspired by their education and cultural experience
in Europe, Cairo’s European-​educated elite extensively questioned the oppressed position
of women in a predominantly patriarch culture that excluded them from education, work
and public life. Gamal El-​Din al-​Afghani, Muhammad ʿAbdu, Rifaʿa Al-​Tahtawi and
Qasim Amin wrote extensively on the development of national modernity that is relevant
to local culture, tradition and ideals and which Islamic thoughts support.15 On returning

357
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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

Figure 22.3 Pharus Map of Cairo, 1905 by H. Friedrich & Co.

Public domain. Courtesy of Egyptian Geographic Society.

home from their educational missions in Europe they were appointed to lead national
governmental and cultural institutions, such as Education and Public Work, in a plan to
emulate the European model of knowledge and philosophy.
Central to that reform was confronting the centuries-​long discriminative gender seg-
regation and women’s lack of access to education. The harem, the isolated female wing
of the house, was the reformers’ prime target, aiming to challenge and lift the restrictive
structure around women’s position within society. Whilst schools of both sexes (females
and males) were available in some quarters during the nineteenth century, conservative
sheikhs still advised against girls’ education, and that they should be at home, secluded
from strangers and limited to harem enclosures.16
Whilst the public perception of women at the time was of an inferior role in com-
parison to men during the 19th century, it was not entirely accurate. It was a “distorted
one-​sided picture of the Oriental women”,17 by predominantly male European travelers.
Research and archival records negate that notion and prove that women were never

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An Untold Urban Narrative

marginal characters in shaping Cairo’s urban culture. Court and property sales records
suggest that there was a large share of women-​led properties, waqfiyyat and income-​
generating institutions throughout the middle ages. Women were a force not only through
marital relationship and lineage but directly exercising their property ownership rights,
managing their wealth and employing smart strategies managing their endowments
through the waqf system during the 18th century.18 Through my investigation of property
sales records of the 18th and 19th centuries in Al-​Gammaleyah quarter, the majority of
real-​estate selling records were conducted by men on behalf of women owners, acquired
through divorce, inheritance or marriage.19
Also, the harem was never just a lazy chamber for women waiting to entertain their
men. Historians have long argued that the harem was an exclusive facility for elite women
but was also a space for commercial and social engagement with other visiting women
from different households (Figure 22.4). Women took part in public life, spaces, events
and festivals. Middle-​and working-​class women enjoyed more freedom as part of their
daily lives and limited means and livelihoods. Edward William Lane described a visit to
his friend when his mother sat at the edge of the door and exchanged conversations in his
presence.20 It is worth underlining that much of the lower classes could not afford exclu-
sive harem rooms. Rather, they had a multi-​purpose room that became a living room in
the morning (majlis) and harem in the evening.

Figure 22.4 One of the harem quarters in Bayt Al-​Suhaimy. A space for social life and
entertainment and shopping for women in late medieval homes.

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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

Figure 22.4 Continued

Facing strong resistance by radical religious institutions, Egyptian elites used media
and cultural institutions to advocate ideological and cultural reform through challen-
ging the notions of conservatism and the restrictions on freedom of thought and know-
ledge. The call for the liberation of women and their rights to education aimed to move
women from their peripheral position as housewives to be at the center of modern Egypt.
Women’s position in society was then looked at as an indicator according to which the
liberal values of modern societies were measured.21 Reformers believed that without
changing the moral beliefs of ordinary people, leading the nation to modernity wouldn’t
be accepted and would become almost impossible. Their thoughts and principles spread
throughout the growing number of periodicals and privately owned printing presses by

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An Untold Urban Narrative

the second half of the 19th century. Byron D. Cannon argued that social and cultural
change was taking place during the 1870s–​1880s and Qasim Amin’s book, the Liberation
of Women (Tahrir al-​Mar’aa, 1899, was just an articulation of the current stream of
thoughts.22,23 He referred to a series of articles in al-​Lata’if magazine during the 1880s,
handling the same issues, yet in a more subtle manner.24
For the reformers, to be modern, Egyptians had to engage with the knowledge, sci-
entific and philosophical progress of the West,25 and the indication of this was to accept
women as equal members in an equal society. The publication of Qasim Amin’s Tahrir
al-​Mar’aa (Liberation of Women) in 1899 was a protest against the radical constraints on
women’s education and work. This indicated the introduction of the new woman as the
ordinary, modern and active member in the public domain. Unlike the traditional one,
the new woman was educated, productive and made good use of time, while retaining
her commitments to her family and children.26 Women were, hence, the measure of mod-
ernity against which the society was compared to its European counterparts.
The new woman had more far-​reaching implications for the city and society than
what our current knowledge demonstrates. Egyptian sociologists argued that the reform
movement has shaped not only the new woman, but also the new man, who likes a well-​
presented and ordered home, has good taste, and admires pleasant structures.27 The new
man was sensitive, emotional and would only choose his partner through direct inter-
action and emotional companionship, something that was rejected entirely by the con-
servative culture. The new man and woman were pictured as European characters in an
oriental context. This intensified wave of enlightenment and portrayed images of the
modern ordinary (man and woman) set up the public mood for accepting new reforms to
education, building regulations and way of living.

The Transition towards Modernity: from Cultural Reform to the

Design of Homes
As medieval culture and its social conventions were centered on the family and the pos-
ition of women, the harem system, the reformers considered women as the principal issue
for the reform movement. These debates had inevitably extended to question the spatial
organization of houses and the way the harem quarter was isolated. For the elite, this
was no longer a suitable spatial order for modern Egypt. These debates questioned the
spatial organization not only of houses but extended to the built forms and structure of
the medieval city as a big maze and unhealthy dead ends. The harem system, as a conse-
quence, came to an end by 1923 when Huda Shaarawi, the well-​known Egyptian feminist,
took off her veil in public.28
The reference to the delicate taste and sensitivity of the new characters required for
modern Egypt would essentially require a changed home. Hence, the debate between
the old and the new extended to the territory of home that required, according to the
reformers, an equal change in its structure. New perspectives and tolerance towards the
movement and interaction of women within the society resulted in simpler and less com-
plex house layouts. Qasim Amin criticized the complexity of gender-​segregated houses
in Cairo: “Look at us, you find our house is divided into two parts, one for men and
another for women. When we need to build a house, in effect, we spend what is enough
for two houses [two attached houses] … . This includes furniture for each of the two
houses, two teams of servants, one for men and another for women”.29 By comparison,
he applauded the Western middle-​class house that is “well organized, more beautiful

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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

than its oriental counterpart, even though the European spends much less than the
Arab” (ibid.).
Almost a decade earlier, Ali Pasha Mubarak, the minister of Public Work, in justi-
fication of the initiation of a municipal system that limited design and construction of
houses to trained professionals, launched a comprehensive criticism of the traditional
form of living, ruling it as inefficient and unhealthy. In a bold statement, Mubarak stated:

Today people have abandoned old ways of construction in favor of the European
style because of its more pleasant appearance, better standards and lower costs.
In the new system, rooms are either square or rectangular. In the old system,
living rooms together with their dependencies were disordered corridors and
courtyards occupying a lot of space … most of the spaces lacked fresh air and
sunlight, which are the essential criteria for health. Thus humidity accumulated
in these spaces causing disease … facades never followed any geometric order,
thus looking like those of cemeteries. In the new system, facades are ordered and
have a good familiar look.30

Mubarak’s criticism was designed to make the case for Western forms of living that
follow simpler order and geometric principles. But, to accept new forms, you must dis-
miss the long-​rooted and accepted models as problematic and wasteful, while being
also unhealthy. One sentence, in particular, was striking; he dismissed the “disordered
corridors and courtyards occupying a lot of space”, which he knew were peculiar to local
tradition and part of the local social systems in Old Cairo, centered on the movement of
women and ensuring an adequate level of privacy. Indeed, as official and reformer, he was
promoting a Western lifestyle centered on compact forms of apartment buildings that
rely on the independence of the living unit, disconnection from wide street boulevards
and a geometrically ordered array of windows that expose the interior of the house to
the outside world.
Extensive measures of isolating the harem were no longer compulsory, and as a con-
sequence the self-​sufficient courtyard house had become neither affordable nor desir-
able. Between the 1880s and 1920s the incremental number of extroverted apartments,
building construction was evidence of the changing trends, in both the old city and the
new quarters equally. While the home remained the women’s place, they were increasingly
welcomed in the public sphere and outdoor environments. Homes became more fluid and
flexible in terms of practicing everyday life and in terms of integrating indoor and out-
door activities (Figure 22.5).

Modern Women and the Making of Modern Cairo

Following those public campaigns on modernizing Egyptian culture, Cairo witnessed the
development of new models of multi-​storey apartment buildings in its modern quarters.
Whilst building in the newly developed Ismaʿili Cairo was relatively straightforward
with well-​defined blocks and streets, organizing the transition within the confines of
the Medieval city was difficult and harder to navigate. By the 1880s, the master-​builder
ceased his control of the design and building process and was replaced by a complex
technical process of planning, drawings and construction, all of which required prior
applications and permissions. This was in stark contrast to the convention of the time,
which was “based on religious law, specifically on the percept that one was not permitted

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An Untold Urban Narrative

Figure 22.5 Relaxed boundaries of privacy and gender barriers over two centuries: a
symptomatic cultural shift following the changing demographics and social profile of a typical
Cairene harah.

to harm one’s neighbors by building on a public thoroughfare and obstructing passage, by

intruding upon the neighbors’ privacy, by depriving them of light and air, by disturbing
them with noise or smelly activities”.31
The new system required qualified professionals and only architects with experience
in scaled drawings and permission purposes would be certified. Construction work had
to be supervised by an architect/​engineer and Tanzim officers according to the legisla-
tive decree issued on 8 September 1883.32 The decree also defined specific conditions
and recommended certain forms and spatial orders. It set several hygienic criteria and
spatial requirements such as minimum internal room dimensions, natural ventilation for
all rooms, and orienting openings to the north, with provision for a few to the south
(for cross ventilation). It also required a toilet for every closed apartment and shared
for individual rooms. A decree issued on 8 September 1883 from the Ministry of Public

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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

Works33 said: “Clause 1: Any building activities within cities should obtain a formal per-
mission before the work commences”. Clause 2 of the same decree insisted that the appli-
cation for building permission should be accompanied by “drawings of the plot, roads
and neighbors drawn on a scale 1:200”. The new legislation required every new building
to follow the defined road alignment maps (Khutut Tanzim).34
The same decree set the minimum dimensions of a room to be 4(l)×3(w)×3(h) meters.
Any non-​approved activities were considered illegal and were subject to a penalty or
demolition.35 The extent of these restrictions was described by Mahboub during the
1930s: “They are wide to the extent that by the application of Tanzim Alignment laws
of 1881, 1887 and 1889, building lines can be decreed for the widening or modifying
of any public street or road. No new constructions can encroach on these lines and
heightening or any forms of maintenance, including even plastering of such portions of
existing buildings as are cut by these lines, are forbidden”. All work should be inspected
frequently by the Ministry of Public Works’ engineers.36 The decree was amended later
to add further specifications regarding exposed terraces and Mashrabeyah on the main
façade.37 The revised decree, issued on 9 January 1899, was inclusive and decisive about
these issues.38 It specified the depth of the exposed balcony to be at a height of no less
than 4.50 m from entrance level and should not be longer than 1.00 m for wide roads
(more than 6 meters) and 0.50 m for narrow roads (less than 6 meters).
The influence of the European culture in shaping those reforms was apparent. During
the last quarter of the nineteenth century, French-​educated Egyptians controlled most
governmental and cultural institutions, in participation with Western (mainly French)
experts. Tanzim Department in 1889, for example, employed four Egyptian and six
French engineers with French as the main language for formal correspondence and
communications.39 Under this system, projects were awarded through a bidding process
with detailed construction information and documents including scaled drawings and
material specifications.40 Such imposition of state regulations on the Hawari was challen-
ging and not straightforward. The value and process were not fit for the low-​cost local
processes of the context-​based convention of design and build. As a result, houses of Old
Cairo continued with convention with the slow transformation towards new models when
a building was sold, demolished and rebuilt (Figure 22.6).
The transformation of socio-​cultural and economic conditions went in line with the
spatial change in abandoning the harem’s quarters and opening up residential units to the
outside street space. The vast majority of selling records in al-​Bab al-​ʿAli’s court around
the turn of the century followed the same convention.41 The joint-​household system
dominated urban housing in Egypt at the turn of the 20th century (58% of houses have
joint-​household units up to seven members).42 At the turn of the twentieth century, only
a few houses of courtyard introverted organization were still in actual use. The result
was small plots for reduced, compact, vertically extended houses that soon developed
into joint-​household units, in which family relatives used to occupy separate apartments
within the same building, as was the dominant model of the Hawari of the late 19th /​
early 20th century.

Concluding Remarks: Tracing Culture, Gender and Modernity in Old Cairo

In the 50 years following the introduction of building legislations in Cairo, over 60
architects were operating in Cairo during the period 1880s–​1930s, most of whom were
European (French, Italians, Austrians and Belgians).43 They shaped much of the new

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An Untold Urban Narrative

Figure 22.6 Mid-​20th-​century houses showing outward spatial design and limited interior
spaces: (a) Al-​Darb Al-​Asfar layout of 20th-​century houses, showing shrinking the scale of the
units; (b) some floor plans of an apartment.

city quarters with their imported Classical style that dominated the image of the new
boulevards.44 This is not to suggest that the legislation paved the way for European influ-
ence. Yet it was a by-​product of the European education and reform movement that
dominated Cairene culture during that period. Currents of reform, however, were already
in action since Muhammad ʿAli’s vision for modern Egypt was shaped decades earlier
than the reform movement and its instigator. Social mobility and modern lifestyle were
emerging in Europe throughout the century and as an East–​West anchor of trade, it was
only time for Cairo to go through such transformation. Challenging centuries of societal

365
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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

practices and inherited culture that limit the freedom of women, however, was never
going to be straightforward. The success of the reform movement and shifting public per-
ception towards the freedom of women had paved the way for more influential changes
to urban living.
At times, being modern was looked at as a national stand and political resistance, at
other times, it was a professional practice and regulatory endeavor. The centrality of
women’s position to the debate about modernity and nationalism within Cairene society
was the fundamental and coherent process that gave meaning and purpose for the urban
change brought about by European quarters and the rise in European communities and
professionals in the country. Lifestyle and living standards had fundamentally changed.
Being part of modern life required living in a modern setting, an apartment in a multi-​
storey building with access to views and airy windows and wide streets. In this context,
the turn of the twentieth century was found to be the most challenging period for the sur-
vival of the Hawari of Cairo, with a lack of funds, intensive migrations and destruction
to its infrastructure and physical fabric.
Old Cairo was a battleground for the emerging intellectual reform movement and its
position on women’s participation in society and the public sphere, and where radical
culture was deeply rooted. However, change in the popular mood towards women was
encouraged by the emergence of the modern quarters of European Cairo, the pressure
to drive the merchants to live in new quarters, while governmental institutions imposed
aggressive legislation and building reforms. Medieval harawi were the first to be affected
by this change, fundamentally and structurally. Courtyard houses became an unafford-
able luxury for the emerging working-​class communities. They were replaced by the more
affordable, compact and extroverted multi-​storey family houses on smaller plots of land.
In this chapter, I examined the emergence of currents of modernity throughout the
last quarter of the nineteenth century and early twentieth century and its impact on the
spatial transformation of its urban fabric and house design. Whilst the perception of
women in medieval Cairo as prisoners of the harem quarter was challenged through his-
toric evidence, connecting women’s freedom of movement to other necessary health and
safety concerns had propagated new models of living and paved the way for an efficient
and affordable form of living. The spatial transformation in everyday life of the Cairenes
in the Old City followed a series of socio-​economic and demographic changes to Cairene
society. The influence of the reform movement and its pioneers was, however, the key to
challenging the conservative culture that restricted the freedom of women. Cairo’s his-
tory has been well studied and analyzed through various angles and socio-​political lenses.
Yet, it is through such micro-​narratives of its Hawari (or harat) that we may understand
how it withstood the test of time and accommodated fundamental and radical shifts at
moments of transition and structural change.

Notes
1 S. Lane-​Poole (1902) The Story of Cairo, London: J.M. Dent & Co.
2 S. Lane-​Poole (1845).
3 M.G. Abdelmonem (2016a).
4 C. Myntti (1999).
5 M.G. Abdelmonem (2016b).
6 J. Beinin and L. Zachary (1998); J. Beinin (1981).
7 M.G. Abdelmonem (2016a).
8 P. Fargues (2003), p. 30.

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An Untold Urban Narrative

9 Al-​Muqaddasi (1897) Ahsan al-​Taqasim. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press, p. 316.

10 J. Abu-​Loghud (1971).
11 Jean-​Luc Arnaud argued that moving those merchants to new quarters was a principal plan of
the government. Merchants living at the edge of the old city, in particular, were given large plots
in new quarters to build new homes, while “keeping their businesses (shops, stores) in the old
city, which should remain the central site for trade in Cairo in the long term”. This was planned
to feed the new Ismailia quarter with active movement and lively environment.
12 A. Mubarak (1882).
13 C. Myntti (1999).
14 M.A. Fay (1997), pp. 46–​47.
15 A.A. Hourani (1962).
16 H. Shaarawi (1986).
17 M.A. Fay (1998).
18 M.A. Fay (2012); M.A. Fay (1997), p. 134; N. Keddie (2006).
19 M.A. Fay (1997).
20 E.W. Lane (1860).
21 A.A. Hourani (1962).
22 B.D. Cannon (1985).
23 Women were already admitted to certain fields of education. For example, on 28 September
1886, 13 female students graduated with diplomas from the School of Birth, as was
announced in the formal newspaper of the time: al-​Waqa’I al-​Masriyyah issue 28 September
1886, p. 924.
24 Q. Amin (1899), p. 322.
25 A.A. Hourani (1962), p. 103.
26 H. ElSadda (2012).
27 H. ElSadda (2007).
28 M. Badran (1986).
29 Q. Amin (1899).
30 A. Mubarak (1882) p. 151
31 N. Hanna: Construction work in Ottoman Cairo (1517–​1798). (Cahier No. 4 Supplément aux
Annales lslamologiques.) vi, 71 pp. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du
Caire, 1984, p. 10.
32 Formal Decree for the conditions on building houses within big cities, 8 September 1883,
Ministry of Public Works. Archival Document, file number 6/​2/​A Public Works (Archival
Code: 0075–​035972.) Cairo: The National Centre for Archival Documents.
33 Formal Decree for the condition of building houses within big cities, 8 September 1883. Ministry
of Public Works. Archival Document, file number 6/​2/​A Public Works (Archival Code: 0075-​
035972.) Cairo: The National Centre for Archival Documents.
34 Due to the lack of professionals at this period and their high cost, I expect that many building
owners left their buildings un-​restored and limited the opportunities for low-​class people to build
new houses. Ruined buildings were continuously occupied without maintenance. In the popular
al-​Moqattam newspaper, a French Architect called Korsicous published daily advertisements
for building houses and receiving his fees in delayed installments. See Al-​Moqattam newspaper,
issues 3279, 80, 81 dated 8, 11, 15 January 1900. Cairo: Sarrouf and co.
35 All these decisions were taken by the Tanzim department and Ministry of Public Works under
the Alignment Act of 1881, and the Law of Expropriation of 1906. Mahboub, ibid. p. 289.
36 S. Mahboub (1935), p. 292.
37 See decrees for amending the decree of 1883. For example: Decrees dated 9 May 1889 (File 6/​
2/​A, Public Works, Code: 0075-​035989); 16 June 1895 (File 6/​2/​B, Public Works, Code: 0075-​
035990); 4 June 1896 (File 6/​2/​B, Public Works, Code: 0075-​035991). Cairo: The National
Centre for Archival Documents.
38 Formal Decree for the conditions on building houses within big cities, 9 January 1899,
Ministry of Public Works. Archival Document, file number 6/​2/​B Public Works (Archival
Code: 0075036014.) Cairo: The National Centre for Archival Documents.
39 The Cabinet had requested translation of those correspondences to discuss them. Some letters
on this request were found among the archival records of the Ministry of Public Works during
the 1880s.

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Mohamed Gamal Abdelmonem

40 In the daily records of the Ministry of Public Works, several projects were announced for
bidding on construction works. For such bidding, detailed specifications and drawings were
specified by the owner or the institution which owned the building. See for example: record 5/​2/​
1M (Architectural issued documents), no. 355-​Buildings, for the year 1877.
41 They were similar even in terms of gender of landlords/​owners, who were mainly females
(widows, or freed slaves).
42 K. Cuno (1995), p. 486.
43 M. Volait (2001).
44 S. Raafat (2003).

All images are by the author unless otherwise indicated.

Bibliography
Abdelmonem, M.G. (2016a) The Architecture of Home in Cairo: Socio-​spatial practice of the
Hawari’s Everyday Life. London: Routledge.
—​—​—​. (2016b) Chase over the Nile: The Social Evolution of riverine landscape in Urban Egypt.
In Silva, C.N. (ed.), Urban Planning in North Africa. London: Routledge, pp. 157–​170.
—​—​—​. (2016c) The Modern Ordinary: Changing the culture of living in Egypt’s traditional
quarters at the turn of the twentieth century. Middle Eastern Studies 52(5), 825–​844.
Abu-​Loghud, J. (1971) Cairo: 1001 Years of the City Victorious. Princeton: Princeton University
Press, p.19.
Al-​Muqaddasi (1897) Ahsan al-​Taqasim. Calcutta: Baptist Mission Press.
Amin, Q. (1899) Tahrir al-​Mar’aa (The liberation of women), Arabic title. In Emara, M. (2008)
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Arnaud, J. (2002) Le Caire: Mise en Place d’une ville modern 1867-​1097, Des intérêts du prince
aux sociétés privées. Arabic translation by Halim Touson and Fuad El-​Daha. Cairo: Higher
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Badran, M. (1986) Huda Shaarawi, Harem Years: The Memoirs. Trans., ed., and intro. Margot
Badran. London: Virago Press; New York: The Feminist Press of the City University of
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Beinin, J. (1981) Formation of The Egyptian Working Class. MERIP Reports, no.94: Origins of
the Working Class, Class in the Middle East. Washington DC: Middle East Research and
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Beinin, J., and Zachary, L. (1998) Workers on the Nile: nationalism, communism, Islam, and the
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Cuno, K. (1995) Joint family households and rural notables in 19th-​century Egypt. International
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Fay, M.A. (1997) Women and waqf: towards a reconsideration of women’s place in the Mamluk
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—​—​—​. (1998) From concubines to capitalists: women, property, and power in eighteenth-​century
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4 Supplément aux Annales lslamologiques.) vi, 71 pp. Le Caire: Institut Français d’Archéologie
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Lane-​Poole, S. (1845) The Englishwoman in Egypt: Letters from Cairo. 2 vols. London: William
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—​—​—​. (1902) The Story of Cairo. London: J.M. Dent & Co.
Mahboub, S. (1935) Cairo: some notes on its history character and town plan. The Journal of Town
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and Introduced by Margot Badran. New York: Feminist Press at the City University of
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23
RETHINKING URBAN
TRANSFORMATIONS IN CAIRO
A View from “Middle-​Class” Housing
in Al-​Mohandiseen

Khaled Adham

Most young urban, educated, males coming of age in Cairo during the 1950s and the
1960s did not find it difficult to acquire housing. While only a fortunate few were able
to become property owners, most of them rented. Not only was rent tenancy the norm
for most urban Cairene families, it was also available and reasonably affordable to most
of them in proportion to their income, which was typically generated from employment.
Moreover, for both owners and renters, family support for land or housing acquisition,
through ownership or payment of rent, was a rarity. Today, the grandchildren of the 1950s
and 1960s generation find themselves in a peculiar predicament. Although their educa-
tional credentials and employment would conventionally place them, like their parents
and grandparents, in the “middle class” category, many have virtually no chance of
making it on their own onto the housing market without support: from the state through
cheap and subsidized housing, from their parents through direct support or inheritance,
or from migration. For almost five decades, housing and property prices in Egypt have
been increasing at astronomical rates that are much faster than any savings from wages
young middle-​class earners may receive in the public or the private sectors in Egypt.
The roots of this predicament, I will contend, go back to the 1970s when the dominant
form of housing tenure shifted from rent towards ownership. This change in the
political economy of housing has, in turn, contributed to the transformation of the
social relationships and responsibilities within the family, “familial contract”, particularly
with regard to housing acquisition for young, male, adults, which the social and cultural
norms in Egypt make a necessity for them to enter the institution of marriage. The
variegated methods of acquiring housing, the level of parental involvement and support,
and the timing and type of these acquisitions have been significantly underwriting the
socio-​spatial transformation of professional middle-​class families and neighborhoods
in the city. Although this trend has hardly gone unnoticed in both academic writings
and non-​academic discussions and media coverage, what have received less recognition
are the questions concerning how this trend might have reshaped our understanding of
the concept of social position and class itself, our conception of the role of housing
acquisition for social reproduction in shaping, or re-​shaping, the dynamics of social and

370 DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-26

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Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo

Figure 23.1 A view of part of al-​Mohandiseen 1990.

Courtesy of Mohamed Naser.

physical mobilities, and our comprehension of the diagnosis concerning the “middle-​
class” complex patterns of spatial expansions in the city.
I consider this article my preliminary reflections on these questions. Rather than pro-
viding a detailed examination of the concept “middle class”, I aim at providing an urban
view on the concept, its urban formation and transformations, by tracing the urban his-
tory of a “middle class” (or upper middle class) neighborhood, namely, al-​Mohandiseen
(Figure 23.1). In telling the story of this neighborhood, I will do two things: first, I will use
two perspectives to briefly show how the neighborhood has developed over the years: a
close perspective of a single apartment building and a bird’s-​eye view of the historical
changes the neighborhood has undergone following the historical timeframe of changing
political economies in Egypt. Second, I will use housing acquisition for marriage as a
thread that runs through both perspectives to link the social and the urban transform-
ations of this social category. My goal is to shed some light on the socio-​spatial trans-
formations of a particular social group in the city.

A Housing Vignette from al-​Mohandiseen

Consider this brief story of one representative apartment building in al-​Mohandissen
neighborhood, of its owners and tenants who negotiated five decades of changing pol-
itical economies to advance, or maintain, their social positions, in which housing played
a central role in their struggle. The building’s story begins with its main protagonist, its
first owner, Dr. Sameh. Graduated from Cairo university in 1958, he was specialized

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Khaled Adham

in medical laboratory testing and analysis, and worked in a governmental laboratory

in the Giza province. As a child, he grew up in the traditional quarter of al-​Helmeya
al-​Gadeedah to an educated Egyptian family. Three years after his graduation he felt
ready to marry and his family helped in finding a suitable match. His match was Ms
Sanaa, a teacher and a recent graduate from the faculty of Arts, Cairo University. They
were engaged in 1960 and for that he had to consider establishing their ‘ish al-​Zawgeya,
marriage nest.
Dr. Sameh bought a parcel of land in the newly advertised city of al-​Awqaf, later
to be named al-​Mohandiseen, from the medical doctors’ cooperative. The choice of
al-​Mohandiseen was not without protests from the couple’s families; the selection was
seen as “Fi Akher al-​Donya”, “at the end of the world”. This figurative phrase reflects
how remote the area must have looked in the early 1960s, an impression reiterated to
me by several other residents from al-​Mohandiseen. Dr. Sameh hired a local architect to
design the building and a contractor to oversee the construction. For Dr. Sameh, the pur-
chasing of the land and the financing of the construction were made possible through his
savings and through a low-​interest-​rate loan he took from the cooperative. By the end of
1963 the apartment building was ready for the marriage, which took place on the roof
of the finished building. The completed building consisted of a ground floor, a first floor
and only half of the second floor (the apartment facing the main street), bringing the
total apartments ready to be used to five. It was not clear why the second apartment of
the second floor was not built. My assumption is that the cost would have exceeded the
budget.
Dr. Sameh lived with his wife in one of the apartments on the second floor facing
the street and reserved one of the ground floor apartments for a private lab, which he
wanted to establish but never really materialized. All three other apartments were put
up for rent. At that time, the rent was set by an official rent committee following Law 46
that was issued in 1961. The law set the annual total rent at five percent of the cost of
land plus eight percent of the cost of constructing the building. Ironically, this rent law,
which is described in literature as “old rent”, is still implemented to date. For the early
1960s, this rent amount, which was around LE10 per month per apartment, was enough
to help the family increase its monthly income to cover the living family expenses and,
perhaps, to pay the small housing debt. By the end of 1964, the three rented apartments
were occupied by three recently married couples. In the apartment on the ground floor
lived a young military officer with his wife, who worked in a bank . He also had a higher
degree in physical education and retired from the army in the mid 1970s. In the apartment
on the first floor, facing Dr. Sameh’s own apartment, lived a medical doctor and his wife;
both were friends of Dr. Sameh’s family. Finally, in the sole apartment at the roof level,
the second floor, lived an engineer with his wife, who was a graduate of the Faculty of
Science, Cairo University, but never actually had a job.
In the following ten years, all four families grew in number. Dr. Sameh and his wife
had four children, all boys; the officer on the ground floor and the engineer on the third
had two children each, a boy and a girl; and the medical doctor on the second floor had
two daughters. At the end of 1977, the medical doctor, whose private practice in down-
town was doing well, decided to buy a new apartment in the area and, therefore, moved
out of the building with his family. At that time, housing shortage and talks about a
housing crisis were beginning to reverberate in Cairo. Dr. Sameh, however, decided to
put the apartment once again for rent. On that date, the housing rent was slightly higher
than the other earlier rented apartments, as it followed another law issued a few months

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Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo

before –​the new law set rent at seven percent of the cost of land plus ten percent of the
cost of the building construction. During the period, it had also become a more widely
practiced strategy for a property owner to ask for “key money”, “Khiliw rigl”, to circum-
vent the strict rent control laws. “Key money” was a sum of money demanded by owners
from new tenants before occupying a housing unit, because, once the tenancy agreement
was signed, they had the right to remain in it for life. Initially, the amount of key money
grew higher as the housing shortage intensified. The practice, however, began to recede
later, as the dominant housing tenure was shifting towards ownership.
The 1980s witnessed some changes in the building. At the beginning of the decade,
the former retired officer, who by then was teaching in a college in Port Said, took a
job in the Gulf; his family remained in Egypt, though. It is important to highlight that
starting in the 1970s many Egyptian residents from the neighborhood migrated to work
in the Gulf and remitted money back home with a substantial amount of their earnings
channeled to financing housing acquisitions for their children. To put these in numbers,
it is estimated that during this period, for example, 25% of university professors in Egypt
went to work in the Gulf.1 Moreover, the Egyptian workers in the Gulf remitted nearly
USD 1.3 billion between 1974 and 1977 alone2 and more than 40% of this amount was
channeled to housing.
Towards the end of the decade, Dr. Sameh’s older son was about to graduate from
the university and was, hence, approaching the age of marriage. Dr. Sameh decided to
add more floors to the building. At that time, the housing crisis was a reality. Thus, he
had a different strategy to finance the construction. In addition to completing the other
half of the roof, on the second floor, he decided to add two more floors, and sell one of
them. The building in 1990 had double the number of apartments it had when it was
first built. Three of the new apartments were designated to three of his sons (the added
apartment on the second floor and the two apartments on the third floor). The apartment
on the ground floor (the lab that he never opened) was renovated and designated for the
fourth son. The two apartments on the fourth floor were sold to two related families.
These apartments were apparently sold to cover the cost of the entire construction. In
the same year, the former retired officer on the ground floor returned from the Gulf to
his family. His son had just finished his studies at the medical school of Cairo University
and, as per the norm in Egypt, he too was approaching the marriage age. To support his
son, he bought him an apartment in 6th of October City. A few years later, in 1998, his
daughter got married and left the apartment. His son never got married and remained
in the apartment after the death of the parents in the 2000s and his other apartment in
6th of October City has remained vacant and closed until today. Although the new law
of 1996 lifted rent control for newly built units and the rental market was liberalized, old
rent laws continued unchanged with one exception: only first-​degree relatives who lived
in the apartment have the right to inherit the tenancy contract for only one generation.
Dr. Sameh died in 2008, just a few years after his wife’s death. In the following few
years, two of his sons emigrated to Canada and the USA respectively. While one of them
sold his apartment to cover the cost of immigration, the other left his vacant apartment
unused until today. The two sisters on the fourth floor also emigrated and, like their
two brothers, one sold her apartment while the other kept it to return to during her
family’s occasional visits to Cairo. Coincidentally, three out of the ten apartments in
this building are left closed by their owners, mirroring the latest national census of 2017,
which revealed that more than one-​third of the total urban housing units in the country
are vacant, with Cairo as no exception.3 Dr. Sameh’s apartment was indeed part of the

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Khaled Adham

four siblings’ inheritance. Because Dr. Sameh’s apartment had a better street view and
ventilation, it was decided among the brothers that the older one move into it and sell his
own on the second floor, with the money from the sale divided among them. In 2018, the
older son of Dr. Sameh, who by then had three sons and a daughter, decided to add one
more apartment for his older son, who was getting married. It was decided among the
two brothers who stayed in Egypt that each one of them can add one apartment for one
of their children on the fifth floor, the roof level. There were apparently problems finan-
cing this new addition, attested by the initial decision to construct the roof of this new
apartment from cheap material. Where the other children of these two families would live
when they get married remains unclear, as the building reached its permit’s height-​limit.
They will probably have to look for apartments somewhere else, but will the parents still
be able to support them?
The reader who is familiar with al-​Mohandiseen neighborhood will find the stories
of the owners and tenants of this building very familiar. They reflect Egypt’s political
economy of youth, which is dominated by the central material and social struggle to
marry. The financial requisites for marriage involve not only young men and women, but
also their parents. Today, owning an apartment is one of the central requirements for
marriage, a prerequisite of the groom, and is one of the social constructs across different
social classes.4. Moreover, marriage requirements in Egypt are set, to a large extent, as
a measure of a bride’s worth. The choice of the location of the house and its size is
expected to be related to the socio-​economic background of both the bride’s and the
groom’s families. Anything less than expected would mean a social status decline.

The Urban Roots of the Middle Class

Scholars have long been thinking of class in Egypt in terms of education and employment,
with both reflecting what class bracket someone belongs to. The idea of class in Egypt is
rooted in social and cultural conditions that emerged at the turn of the 20th century, with
origins dating even further back to the establishment and rise of the male figure of the
effendi in the 19th century, when Mohammad ʿAli and his successors expanded the military
and the Egyptian state bureaucracy.5 However, we are reminded that the effendi was not a
class position, at least in the sense it historically developed in Europe and with which it has
always been conflated.6 It was rather a cultural and social category predominantly marked
by socially identifiable signs and characteristics. The effendi was conventionally codified
through his modern aspirations and outlook: his Western-​style education, his employ-
ment as a white-​collar worker, and his exterior appearance of suit and fez, “tarbush”.
Moreover, as a social category, he was defined as in between two other social categories,
“awlad al-​Zawat and awlad al-​Balad”, “sons of elites and sons of folks”, and was internally
composed of a variety of social hierarchies, particularly with regard to family origin (rural
or urban), occupation (owners of workshops, businesses, low-​or high-​ranking employees,
etc.), and diverse income levels. Most importantly, the concept of social middle-​classness
was articulated less through income as it was through the effendi’s distinct cultural identity
and social position. In addition, social mobility was grounded in his ability to access higher
education and the subsequent employment in the ever-​growing bureaucracy.7
Most young effendeya (pl. of effendi) in Cairo, like the elders of our vignettes, lived
with their families in the traditional quarters of the city, in al-​Sayyida Zeinab, al-​
Helmeya al-​Gadeedah or al-​Gamaleya, to name a few examples. While for some effendeya
getting married entailed spatially rearranging or expanding the traditional family house

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by occupying a room, or by building an annex to it, for others it meant moving closer
to their jobs to areas at the eastern edge of the new modern quarters of Ismaʿilia and
Azbakeya.8. It was only after the real-​estate boom period between 1904 and 1907, which
witnessed a spatial expansion to the north-​east, south and west of the old city, that some
young effendeya seeking to start their own families began to move out of the traditional
quarters to the modern, newly built developments. Not all these new urban developments,
however, were accessible to most of them. Some of these new large developments, such
as Garden City and Maʿadi, were developed by private real-​estate ventures seeking profit
from primarily wealthy foreign residents and members of the higher echelons of Egyptian
society. Property development for these residential real-​estate ventures was based on land
subdivision and sales of unbuilt plots. To be sure, a real-​estate company would buy a large
tract of land, divide it into smaller parcels, then offer them for sale to wealthy foreigners,
pashas and Bakawat (pl. of the honorary title Bey). The architectural typology of the villa,
or mansion, dominated these developments and the prevailing housing tenure was that
of ownership. Other expanding relatively affluent areas, such as Zamalek and Ismaʿilia
quarter (now downtown Cairo), included a mix of villas and luxury apartment buildings.
These modern apartment buildings, typologically first introduced in the Ismaʿilia quarter
a few decades earlier, were often owned by wealthy individuals who usually did not reside
in the building and rented out all units. Tenants in these modern blocks lived in five-​or
six-​room flats with rent prices exceeding the capabilities of an average effendi income.
A small number of higher-​level civil servants, however, could afford the relatively high
rent in these buildings. The less affluent majority of effendeya were concentrated in new
developments such as in the island of Manyal and in Heliopolis as well as other smaller-​
scale developments scattered in the areas abutting the old city, such as Shubra, al-​Daher
and al-​Nassereya. These developments were dominated by the architectural typology of
the apartment building. Each building customarily consisted of three or four stories, two
dwellings in each floor, with the owner, an effendi, living in one of the units and renting
out the others –​each unit usually consisted of three or four rooms.9
With the exception of a few dispersed housing developments around a handful of
villages, almost all the newly developed urban areas up until the early 1930s were limited
to the East bank of the Nile. During the previous three decades of the 20th century,
however, a series of infrastructural projects began to attract urbanization west of the
Nile, to the large rural lands and fiefs that were predominantly owned by royal family
members, large landowners and the Ministry of Waqfs (religious endowments). These
projects included, among others, the inauguration of the ʿAtaba-​Pyramids tramway by
way of Zamalek and the Zoo in 1912 and the opening of the ʿAbbas and Imbaba bridges
in 1908 and 1924, respectively. Thus, we find large sections of this bucolic expanse slowly
converting to urban quarters to absorb the growing population of Cairo. While most
of the formal urban developments in both the east and the west banks of the Nile were
catering for the upper echelons of society, fewer were responding to the expanding social
category of effendeya (Figure 23.2).
As part of the growing interest in urbanizing the west bank of the Nile, Sabry
Mahboub, an Egyptian-​born, British-​educated urban planner and chief engineer for the
Ministry of Public Works, presented in 1935 a proposal to develop a large “Government
residential estate”. The selected tract for the development was agricultural land almost
owned solely by the Ministry of Waqfs. Located across from the island of Zamalek, it was
bracketed by Imbaba village to the north, Agouza village to the south, the Cairo-​Aswan
railway tracks to the west and the Nile river to the east. An irrigation canal, al-​Sawahel,

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Khaled Adham

Figure 23.2 Mahboub’s proposal for Awqaf City in context, 1935.

Map illustrations by Antoine Ghanem prepared for the author.

ran parallel to the Nile, internally dividing the farmland into two parts, each containing,
in addition to the corn and wheat fields, a small rural village, namely, al-​Hutteya and
Mit ‘Uqba. Unlike most of the new developments of that time, such as Zamalek, Maadi
and Heliopolis, Mahboub’s proposal (Figure 23.3) was a layout drawn up more using a
compass than a ruler. Its main features included a large park, a green belt bordering the
limits of the estate, a large area reserved for sports clubs, wide arterial roads for bypass
traffic and curved secondary streets, clustering around public gardens, for the residential
zones.10 Like its predecessor the Garden City development, the proposed systematic

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Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo

Figure 23.3 Riad’s proposal for Awqaf City in context, 1948.

Map illustrations by Antoine Ghanem prepared for the author.

curving of the roads was, perhaps, meant to attract the wealthy individuals, who would
be looking for something picturesque more than the usual grid-​pattern offered elsewhere.
Moreover, its resemblance to the Garden City development suggests that it was emulating
its land developmental method in which the land would be subdivided into plots and
offered for sale as unbuilt plots for mansions and villas.
We do not know why the proposed plan did not materialize. We can only speculate
that the frequent changing of governments during this period created an atmosphere
not supportive for setting up projects and large-​scale operations of such magnitude.

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Khaled Adham

In addition, the eruption of the Second World War in 1939 caused a severe shortage
of building materials and labor, which, in turn, stalled all construction activities in the
country. Finally, because of the wartime circumstances, the government issued a decree
in 1941 to freeze all rents in the country and to refuse any eviction of tenants from their
housing, a condition that discouraged many potential buyers and owners of land to
invest in residential projects. In an inexplicable contradiction to these explanations, we
also know that interest in developing this part of the city, at least on paper, continued
even during war time and under these same circumstances. Two decrees were subse-
quently issued in 1940 and 1944 establishing Madinat al-​Awqaf as a 1000-​feddan,
upper-​class district of villas and residential apartment blocks.11 Interestingly, the idea
was not without its detractors. In 1945, an article appeared in the architectural journal
Al ‘Aimarah, criticizing the selected location of Madinat al-​Awqaf on the ground that
this being an agricultural land, urban development should only be directed towards the
surrounding desert.12 (Figure 23.3).
In 1948, another Egyptian-​ born, British-​
educated urban planner and the chief
engineer of the Ministry of Waqfs, namely Mahomud Riad, drafted a new detailed plan
to develop the area. The main feature that defined Riad’s plan was the long radial wide
avenues and semicircular streets and roundabouts (see Figure 23.3). These main arteries
were connected together through smaller roundabouts and other secondary and tertiary
streets, creating a variety of plot sizes, which, like Mahboub’s plan before him, were
clustered around small public gardens. I would like to highlight two observations about
the plan: first, the proposal continued to ignore the two existing villages and the irriga-
tion canal; second, the size of the resulting plots and parcels seemed much smaller than
what was proposed in Mahboub’s plan a decade earlier. I will conclude that this change
in plot size reflected the intention of the new land developer, the Ministry of Waqfs, to
expand the project’s potential clients beyond the limited segment of wealthy Egyptians
and foreigners to include the effendeya middle social group, which was estimated at that
time to be between six and ten percent of the gainfully employed.13.
When the sale of plots commenced in 1948, the project was advertised in professional
magazines as an “international model city, where one could find the beauty of Vienna
and the elegance of Paris”. These advertisements did not prove very successful, as no
demand for land at Madinat al-​Awqaf was actually presented until well after 1955.14 I find
it inexplicable that no demand existed for the development at a time when talks about a
housing shortage reverberated in the city. A year earlier, in 1947, Riad gave an account of
a developing housing crisis due to a housing shortage exacerbated by the near halting of
all construction activities during the war years.15 I suggest that a few factors might have
contributed to the flinching of its intended clients from investing in this development.
First, the location of the development was seen by many as at the far fringes of the city
with no transportation network or links with the city center (think of Heliopolis, in con-
trast, where the company established a tram system to connect its new development with
the city center). Second, to wealthy and higher-​income groups, the fluid nature of the
site’s boundary to the north, specifically, with the settlements and workers’ city around
the village of Imbaba, and the social composition of people living in that area, which
included urban proletariat, farmers and other low-​income migrant groups, might have
given a negative image for the development’s potential future. Finally, while the relatively
smaller plot sizes might have been intended for the expanding social stratum of the
effendeya, it was not possible for most of them to have saved enough money that would
cover the cost of land acquisition and building construction. (Once again, contrast this

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developmental strategy of land subdivision and unbuilt plot sales with the Heliopolis
company’s more successful strategy in which it built houses and rented them out at
different price categories.) It is important to highlight that the immediate years following
WWII witnessed a continuation of the housing shortage, particularly for the low-​and
middle-​income social groups. With regard to housing, the parliament passed another
bill to continue freezing housing rents, a condition which continued to discourage many
potential landlords from investing in large-​scale housing for the effendeya social group
(Figure 23.4).

Figure 23.4 Map of al-​Mohandiseen, 1958.

Map illustrations by Antoine Ghanem prepared for the author.

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Khaled Adham

The New Middle, the New Social Contract, the New Urban Spaces
The years following WWII witnessed increasing economic hardship and political tur-
moil and, consequently, a rise in public discontent with the political institution. These
sentiments culminated in 1952 when Gamal Abd el-​Nasser led a group of military officers
to overthrow the monarchy and usher in a political and social revolution. Although the
regime began as a nationalist revolution without a clear ideology, it soon began shaping
its program around some socialist ideas. (Egyptian socialism has commonly meant the
centralization of government and state ownership and management of resources and
means of production.) To an extent, the revolution was grounded in responding to the
demands of the effendeya, who actually were no longer given this title, as titles were
abolished after 1952 and even the fez was eventually banned in 1958.16 (The new revolu-
tionary vocabulary describing the various social groups comprising the Egyptian society
was “the alliance of the working forces”, “Tahalouf quowa al-​shaʿab”, which included
farmers, the factory labor force, soldiers, “al-​Mothaqafeen” (the cultured and educated)
and national capitalists. The designation of al-​Mothaqafeen was meant to include both
white-​collar, governmental employees (al-​Mowazafeen) and the skilled professionals with
higher university degrees.
From the start, Nasser, who belonged to the pre-​ revolution’s social stratum of
effindeya, wanted to facilitate his constituency’s further expansion by increasing access to
higher education and broadening opportunities for employment in the public sector, the
standard routes of social mobility in Egypt at that time. In his term between 1952 and
1970, for example, the number of civil servants more than quadrupled.17 The new social
contract between the state, on the one hand, and al-​Mowazafeen and al-​Mothaqafeen
on the other, was based on political allegiance and loyalty to the new political regime in
exchange for the assurance of reliable employment and a comfortable standard of living.
In practice, this entailed expanding the state’s provision of education and other social
services, as well as adopting an extensive web of subsidies on everything from food to
housing18.
One of the new regime’s first moves to support its social constituency of white
collars and skilled professionals came shortly after the revolution when the government
announced that, in addition to extending the previous rent-​freezing law of 1941, it would
also reduce the rent by 15% from the values set in the tenancy agreements. But this was
not sufficient. If we believe Henri Lefebvre that any revolution which has not produced
new spaces has not changed life itself, but has merely changed ideological superstructures,
institutions or political apparatuses,19 we should then ask about the kind of urban spaces
the revolution produced in Cairo, and for whom.
To a great extent, the new spaces produced in the second half of the 1950s reflected the
intention of the regime to support and establish the white-​collar and skilled professionals
in new, modern sections of the city. Three specific urban spaces are particularly important
to mention from these years: al-​Awqaf City, the northern extension of Heliopolis, and
the eastern extension of Heliopolis, Nasr City. While the plans for the first two were
established or revised in 1955 and were predominantly targeting the skilled professionals,
Mothaqafeen, the latter was produced in 1958 as the government’s new center to be
populated by its bureaucrats and civil servants, al-​Mowazafeen. It is important to high-
light that the land management in these developments reflected the aspirations of each
group. While the members of the first group were sold cheap plots to build apartment
buildings or villas, the second were sold subsidized apartments in super apartment

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blocks. These early decisions would later have repercussions on the changing patterns of
demographic distributions in the city, unlocking venues of wealth in the future to certain
groups.
The 1950s were, therefore, significant in terms of establishing the new skilled pro-
fessional class in these new urban areas, particularly through the subsidized programs
of housing cooperatives. At that time, the strict rental laws almost brought the private
sector’s investments in housing to a halt. As we have seen in the housing vignette earlier,
it was only through the government-​subsidized cooperative building programs, which
provided generous loans and inexpensive land, that large-​scale housing projects were pos-
sible. Cooperative housing emerged in Egypt during the 1930s as a domain of private
developers but was transformed after 1952 to become a governmental domain involved
in housing provision through professional syndicates and organizations with over 2,000
members.20 The number of these housing cooperatives at that time reached almost 150
and continued to rise during the subsequent decades.
Not unlike the new northern extension of Heliopolis, Awqaf City was also emer-
ging to mainly accommodate a large spectrum of skilled professionals –​though certain
sections were designated for governmental civil servants, such as Sayed Karim’s Media City
apartments in 1959. As part of Riad’s revised plan of the late 1940s, the entire area was
divided among 20 housing cooperatives, including those set up for the military, navy, police,
judges, medical doctors, engineers, university professors, tax agents, journalists, media per-
sonnel, among others. “Small land plots of 500 to 1000 square meters were put for sale after
a 30% discount, which the Awqaf bore, at LE2-​3 per square meter, paid off over fifteen
years without interest, while members of the cooperatives were able to access further soft
loans to build at 3 percent annual interest”.21 While initially every subdivision was known
by the profession of its occupants, i.e., City of Officers, City of Journalists, and so on,
eventually, the entire area bore the name of the Engineers’ City, Madinat al-​Mohandiseen.
The period between 1955 and 1974 witnessed a gradual increase of the population in
al-​Mohandiseen, as more tenants and house-​owners of various professional occupations
began to move into the area. This is also the time in which our vignette protagonists,
Dr. Sameh and his tenants, moved to al-​Mohandiseen. Villas and apartment buildings
began to fill the empty plots; the irrigation canal was covered, and the corn and wheat
fields were beginning to be erased. The emerging architecture reflected a clear departure
from the earlier styles used in the pre-​1950s villas and apartment buildings elsewhere in
the city. “There were no palaces, no freestanding Prima Donna architects, no Rococo
French style”, writes Mona Abaza, quoting the architect Ahmed Hamed.22 In a rather
stark contrast to much of the pre-​revolution housing developments, the emerging archi-
tecture of the neighborhood was predominantly cubical in form with no ornaments. It
was the epitome of the modern Bauhaus architecture and villa typology.23 By the end of
the 1960s, all roads were laid out and a substantial number of buildings were constructed.
In describing how the area looked in her 1968 visit to Cairo, Janet Abu-​Lughod wrote
about the anomalies that she felt in the district because of the close proximity between
the area’s bucolic past and its urban present and future:

One frequently sees a squatter’s mudbrick hut wedged between modern apartment
buildings, the elaborate villa of a prosperous engineer across the street from a
primitive village, goats and sheep herded down the elegant, tree-​lined street that
borders the Nile. This juxtaposition, as sharp and jarring as it is, is of a highly
transitional character. The residuals are doomed and passing quickly.24

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Al-​Mohandiseen in the Post-​1970s, a Political Economy Perspective

Recounting her family’s move from their villa in Zamalek to an apartment in
al-​Mohandiseen in the late 1960s, Mona Abaza writes that it felt like “we suddenly
descended to the middle class, living in a five-​storey building among unrelated fam-
ilies”.25 Her building was occupied by an engineer, a medical doctor and a pharma-
cist and was located in a quiet, uncrowded area with a mix of well-​designed residential
buildings and hardly any shops. Fast forward five decades and one hears residents of al-​
Mohandiseen lamenting the social and physical transformations that the neighborhood
has undergone over these years: from being infiltrated by the riffraff and the nouveau
riche to becoming crowded, noisy, congested and commercialized, to losing its unique
architectural character and mutating into a cacophony of different building heights and
clashing colors and styles. The transformation of al-​Mohandiseen has been intertwined
with the changing conditions that happened to the descendants of the effendeya and the
skilled professionals, to Dr. Sameh’s family, tenants, among many others, their parents
or grandparents having moved to the area in the late 1950s and 1960s, who are now typ-
ically described as middle or upper-​middle class. What has happened to the middle-​class
professionals of al-​Mohandiseen (Figure 23.5)?
Today, international literature is replete with contradictory articles, books and
research about the condition of the global “middle class”. On the one hand, we read
that the middle class is under pressure, shrinking, or even vanishing26 and, on the other,
that it is rising and flourishing.27 Significantly, in Egypt, the term “middle class” was not
used frequently in public discourse until the 1980s and 1990s28 and since then, scores of
both academic and non-​academic writings have also been lamenting its erosion, collapse,
or disappearance.29 It was not a coincidence, I suggest, that the term “middle class” was
beginning to be used at that time, as it was dialectically related to the changing political
economy in Egypt after the 1974 infitah, to the ascent of the market economy. I shall
return to this point in my conclusion.
Unlike the effendeya or the skilled professionals, whose social position was determined
by their education level and employment stability, a middle class became predominantly
determined by the annual income. Consider the following representative example from
writings on the subject. In an article entitled “Mann al-​Tabaqa al-​Wusta al-​laty kanat,
hal Taʿoud?”, “Who is the Middle Class that Used to Be, Will it Come Back?”, Khaled
Kassab tells us that the middle class that we used to know was neither poor nor rich,
but mastoreen, an Egyptian colloquial term that literally means hidden and sheltered,
and is used to denote, at once, modesty, security and stability. He goes on to describe the
violent waves of social mobility and the changing composition of the “middle class” in
Egypt’s recent social history. Using the average household annual income as an indicator,
Kassab tells us that in 1955 the middle class was about 20% of the population, around
four million, and rose 40 years later to 45%, about twenty-​five million. While in relative
and absolute terms the numbers should indicate an upward expansion of the social cat-
egory, he draws the opposite conclusion. For him, it has eroded, because of the widening
income gap that he detects between the middle and the upper classes. He concludes that
the middle class no longer has the capacity to aspire or dream for its own improvement, its
own striving to ascend upward on the social ladder; hence, it is no longer effectively cap-
able of transforming society.30 Kassab is right in one sense. The three preceding decades
from the time he originally wrote this article have witnessed a hike, sometimes in the
double digits, in the country’s annual inflation rate, which has tremendously contributed

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Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo

Figure 23.5 Map of al-​Mohandiseen, 2021.

Map illustrations by Antoine Ghanem prepared for the author.

to the reshuffling of wealth and income distributions in the country, forging new venues
of wealth creation for some, while eroding savings for most of the others.
Observers of the Egyptian scene customarily trace the causes of these sea-​changes
to the 1974 shifting political economy around the time of infitah (opening economic
doors).31 Social and urban transformations, such as those produced during the time of
infitah, often do not have a single cause. Rather, there is a complicated matrix of forces,
which are often operating at various levels with different intensities –​global, regional,
national and local –​that shape the milieu in which these transformations can be produced

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Khaled Adham

at any specific historical moment. During the era of laissez-​faire of the 1970s, a series of
events and forces at different levels took place, each having an impact on the housing con-
dition in Egypt as a whole and, for our interest here, on al-​Mohandiseen, in particular.
For example, at the global level, the capitalist economies of the global north to which
the Egyptian economy was opening its economic doors were beginning to increasingly
be financialized. Financialization, in this analysis, corresponds to an ascendency of a
pattern of accumulation in which profits accrue primarily through financial channels
and instruments rather than through trade and commodity production.32 The perva-
siveness of financialization and the financial instruments of credit and debt (including
housing-​related mortgages) have altered the economic logic and orientation that follow
from them. All the instruments, techniques and innovations in finance are intrinsically
time-​or future-​oriented. For instance, finance is a promise of future wealth; a credit
is a promise to repay a debt in the future; and a financial asset is a promise of a future
value. Because of the increasing financialization of the economy, its logic has turned
towards the future, towards extracting value from the future.33 For example, capitaliza-
tion, Timothy Mitchell tells us, is one mechanism in advanced housing markets, where
future revenue from selling housing units is converted to stocks and shares with their
value estimated and anticipated, speculated upon, not in relation to construction cost
and profit, but rather in relation to mortgage payments that can be charged to its future
owners, who predominantly belong to younger generations.34
Of course, capitalism’s mechanisms of extracting value from the future are variegated
across different housing markets around the globe. True, in Egypt the housing provision
is, by and large, not financialized. During the past three decades, however, there have been
many attempts to financialize it, attested, for example, by the efforts of the World Bank
since 2001 to support launching a mortgage system. In fact, since the 1990s the mortgage
system has been partially functioning in the private sector through the developers, par-
ticularly of large-​scale housing projects for a particular income group. The client typically
purchases a housing unit with a down payment, followed by installment payments over
five to ten years and only after the completion of the last payment can the client acquire
the ownership title of the property. Only large-​scale developers, who mainly operate in
the new desert areas around the city, can afford to offer this system, with obvious effects
on all involved parties as well as on land and housing prices everywhere in the city.
The dominant housing tenure shift from rent to ownership is one example of the tem-
poral shift caused by the new economic orientation, which came, as I argue, with an
impact on family generational relationships. The generation that experienced the eco-
nomic transformation of the 1970s had to reorient itself with regard to the new economic
temporal shift, which emerged at the back end of the new political economy. Think of
Dr. Sameh and his generation. They had to work to acquire housing for themselves for
marriage in their present time through channeling a portion of their wages in the process,
but they also had to work and invest portions of their income and savings for making
a home for their children (in the future). Whereas before 1970s people their age would
just attain the housing for themselves, after the 1970s a new familial contract was formed
in which they had to also procure it for the next generation. This generational shift for
large segments of the professional “middle class”, and all other social categories for that
matter, entailed early family arrangements, more labor time, migration and remittances,
etc., over a period of time that begins, in some cases, when the children are just born! Rent
tenure suits younger people who want to start a family, as they do not need much time to
possess money to acquire housing. But, when the housing tenure shifts to ownership, and

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Rethinking Urban Transformations in Cairo

with the ensuing inflation in land and housing prices and no available mortgage system,
the amount of money needed can only be met if time stretches over so many years prior
to the purchase. With a mortgage system not available to stream cost and profit from the
future, only parents or grandparents, whether testamentary or inter vivos, can possibly
provide the money –​of course, only if they can afford to do so –​by streaming it from
their past and present labor and savings, if the society wishes to maintain the average
marriage age of 25. That is the new familial contract.
Now, I would like to give the reader a sense of the inflation of land prices in
al-​Mohandiseen, since the 1970s, which undoubtedly affected the housing prices offered
in the market since then. In an interview with the president of Al Ahly Co. for Real
Estate Development, engineer Hussein Sabbour said that when he bought land in al-​
Mohandiseen in 1970 he paid 12 Egyptian pounds per square meter; 40 years later he
sold it for 30,000. This means that while the official average yearly inflation rate in Egypt
between 1970 and 2010 was 11%, the average yearly inflation rate for this land plot was
more than double as much! To put it differently, if someone paid 12LE to purchase a
consumer item back in 1970, he or she would have to pay 780LE to buy the same item in
2010, but for this land plot would have to pay 30,000LE. Clearly, land and housing price
increases over the last five decades have in the long term outstripped inflation. As assets,
they have also widely outpaced price growth in other asset classes, meaning that the con-
tribution of housing wealth to overall wealth has grown in the neighborhood very high.
This is the lesson we actually learn from Thomas Piketty’s capital in the 21st century.35
Again, there are many reasons for the inflation of land and housing prices embedded
in the matrix of forces that were at play in that historical period of transition, which, in
turn, have had many repercussions on the urban conditions of the various, formal and
informal, neighborhoods in the city. These factors are part of the recent urban transform-
ation of al-​Mohandiseen since the 1970s, a history which I am pursuing elsewhere. Suffice
it for my purpose here to conclude this section with one observation. To an extent, from
its beginning, al-​Mohandiseen has always been geographically bounded by the railway
tracks and the vast agricultural lands beyond. During the past five decades, it has become
landlocked, with the vast fields beyond the tracks forming an arch of highly populated
informal settlements. In a sense, it was logical then that its physical expansion became
over these years more and more vertical. From the moment our protagonist Dr. Sameh
built his house in the early 1960s, therefore, and like many other owners, the difference
between what he built and what the maximum height would allow him to reach has been a
potential future value waiting to be tapped into, both as a use value for his children and as
an exchange value for profit –​and of course, one should add, the old rented apartments
as frozen value waiting to be released. (Notice how, initially, the vertical expansion of
many buildings involved adding units for children at the expense of bringing new people
with different social profiles into the neighborhood.) No doubt, five decades of property
inflation have produced a variety of family conditions with regard to housing and land-​
related wealth and income. They have also further diversified not only the residents of the
neighborhoods, but also the families’ abilities to support social reproduction.

Parting Thought: Back to the Middle

In Egypt, since the dominant form of housing tenure began to shift from rent towards
ownership, the ensuing property inflation has eroded the possibility of acquiring housing
on the basis of wage alone. In the wake of the shift, not only has a new familial contract

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Khaled Adham

developed, but a new hierarchy of property-​based classes has also emerged. At the top
of this hierarchy are those who own property assets that can be utilized for children and/​
or for profit; at the bottom are those who rent and do not own any property assets to
transfer to their children. In between, there has been a growing plethora of economic
and social heterogeneity that significantly departed from the initial homogeneity charac-
teristic of al-​Mohandiseen’s professional class residents. Moreover, unlike the pre 1970s,
when social positions were determined by education and steady employment, the new
routes have become more and more determined by property ownership. Notice how rela-
tively stable was a person’s social position when it was measured against an educational
degree, something no one can take away from him or her, and contrast it to a social pos-
ition that is more based on the perpetual fluidity of the appreciation or depreciation of
one’s property value. Doesn’t this state suggest that our social position has become akin
to a stock market, always in flux and constantly in fear of a crash, of falling to a lower
status? And this is what the term middle in “middle class” actually suggests: a perpetual
mobility, instability and movement, socially and economically, upward or downward, a
state or restlessness that arises with the sense of competition with others. It is not a coin-
cidence, I argue, that the term was used in public discourse with the ascent of the market
economy after the 1970s. Although vague and nebulous to describe and define the multi-
tude of people that we ascribe under its spell, the term “middle class” will continue to
hold popularity, perhaps until there is another shift in the political economy.

Notes
1 R. Shechter (2019).
2 R. Lapham, A. Hill and C. Keely (1985) International migration in the Middle East: Effects on
property and social structure. In Ann E. Mayer (ed.), Property, Social Structure, and Law in the
Modern Middle East. Albany: State University of New York Press.
3 CAPMAS (2017).
4 Singerman, D. (1995).
5 R. Shechter (2019).
6 L. Ryzova (2014).
7 L. Ryzova (2014).
8 J. Arnaud (2002).
9 M. Hanna (1985).
10 M. Volait (2001).
11 Y. Shawkat (2020).
12 M. Darhos (1945).
13 R. Shechter (2019).
14 M. Volait (2001).
15 Y. Shawkat (2020) and M. ElShahed (2019).
16 R. Shechter (2019).
17 M Saeed (1998).
18 R. Shechter (2019).
19 H. Lefebvre (1991).
20 M. Hanna (1985).
21 M. Hanna (1985) and Y. Shawkat (2020)
22 M. Abaza (2006), p. 99.
23 M. Abaza (2006).
24 J. Abu-​Lughod (1971), p. 208.
25 M. Abaza (2006), p. 138.
26 P. Temin (2017).

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27 C. Brosius (2010) and T. Friedman (2013).

28 R. Shechter (2019).
29 M Saeed (1998), K. Kassab (2000) and G. Amin (2000).
30 K. Kassab (2000).
31 G. Amin (2000).
32 G. Krippner (2005).
33 M. Lazzarato (2012).
34 T. Mitchell (2016).
35 T. Piketty (2014).

References
Abaza, M. (2006) The Changing Consumer Cultures of Modern Egypt. Cairo: AUC Press.
Abu-​Lughod, J. (1971) Cairo: 1001 Years of City Victorious. Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
Adly, A. (2020) Cleft Capitalism: The Social Origins of Failed Market Making in Egypt. Stanford:
Stanford University Press.
Amin, G. (2000) Whatever Happened to the Egyptians? Cairo: AUC Press.
Arnaud, J. (2002) Mise en Place d’une ville modern 1867-​1907 (in Arabic). Trans. by H. Tossoun and
F. al-​Dahan. Cairo: al-​Magles al-​A’ala lel-​Thaqafa.
Brosius, C. (2010) India’s Middle Class: New Forms of Urban Leisure, Consumption and Prosperity.
London: Routledge.
CAPMAS. (2017) Statistical Yearbook Egypt 2017. Cairo: Central Agency for Public Mobilization
and Statistics.
Darhos, M. (1945) al-​Tabi’a wa Usool al-​Fan wa al-​Seha wa al-​Iqtisad. Al ‘Aimarah 5(8), 24–​25.
Elshahed, M. (2019) Worker’s and popular housing in mid-​twentith century Egypt. In K. Kilinc
and M. Gharipour (eds.), Social Housing in the Middle East: Architecture Urban Development,
and Transnational Modernity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press.
—​—​—​. (2020) Cairo Since 1900: An Architectural Guide. Cairo: AUC Press.
Friedman, T. (2013). The virtual middle class rises. New York Times, 29 February. Available
at: www.nyti​mes.com/​2013/​02/​03/​opin​ion/​sun​day/​fried​man-​the-​virt​ual-​mid​dle-​class-​rises. html
(accessed 12 December 2020).
Hanna, M. (1985) Real estate rights in urban Egypt: the changing sociopolitical winds. In A.E.
Mayer (ed.), Property, Social Structure, and Law in the Modern Middle East. Albany: State
University of New York Press.
—​—​—​. (1996) al-​Iskan wa al-​Siyasah. Cairo: al-​Hayaa al-​Misriya al-​‘Aamah lel-​Ketab.
Kassab, K. (2000) Mann al-​Tabaqa al-​Wusta al-​laty kanat, hal Ta’oud?, Al-​Ahrar, 29 August.
Krippner, G. (2005) The financiaization of the American economy. Socio-​Economic Review 3,
173–​208.
Lapham, R., Hill, A., and Keely, C. (1985) International migration in the Middle East: effects on
property and social structure. In A.E. Mayer (ed.), Property, Social Structure, and Law in the
Modern Middle East. Albany: State University of New York Press.
Lazzarato, M. (2012) The Making of the Indebted Man. Pasadena: Semiotext(s).
Lefebvre, H. (1991) The Production of Space. Trans. by D. Nicholson-​Smith. Oxford: Blackwell.
Mitchell, T. (2016) The capital city. In A. Andraos and N. Akawi (eds.), The Arab City: Architecture
and Representation. New York: Columbia University Press.
Piketty, T. (2014) Capital in the Twenty-​First Century. Cambridge: Belknap Press.
Ryzova, L. (2014) The Age of the Effendiyya. Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Saeed, M. (1998) Inheyar al-​Tabaqa al-​Wusta fi Misr, al-​Ahrar newspaper, 3 August.
Shawkat, Y. (2020) Egypt’s Housing Crisis: The Shaping of Urban Space. Cairo: AUC Press.
Shawkat, Y., and Yousef, S. (2018) “Egypt State of Rent 2017”, The Built Environment Observatory
Marsadomran Blog. Online: http://​mars​adom​ran.info/​en/​facts_​budg​ets/​2018/​02/​1410/​ (accessed
23 May 2018).
Shechter, R. (2019) The Rise of the Egyptian Middle Class: Socio-​Economic Mobility and Public
Discontent from Nasser to Sadat. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Singerman, D. (1995) Avenues of Participation: Family, Politics, and Networks in Urban Quarters of
Cairo. Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Temin, P. (2017) The Vanishing Middle Class. Boston: MIT Press.
Volait, M. (2001) Town planning schemes for Cairo conceived by Egyptian planners in the liberal
experiment period. In H.C.K. Nielson and J. Skovgaard-​Peterson (eds.), Middle Eastern Cities
1900-​1950. Aarhus: Aarhus University Press.

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24
GOVERNMENT VISIONS
A Planner’s Perspective on the Remaking of Cairo

Sahar Attia

The last decade (2010–​2020) was a critical period in the transformation of Egyptian cities.
The current government embarked on envisioning and implementing national projects
tackling existing cities, rural areas and the fourth generation of new cities. Most of these
projects sparked many debates, controversies and sometimes confusion among academics,
researchers, professionals and civil society. Social media was the ideal platform to raise
issues, concerns and arguments. In this chapter I discuss Cairo’s future vision and plans
from the perspective of a practitioner. I also illustrate the changes in urban planning policy
through a practice narrative derived from my work with successive governments and their
institutions since 1988. In 1382, Ibn Khaldoun described Cairo as the metropolis of the
Universe, and the garden of the world.1 Today, it is the megacity par excellence. It is not
only the dream destination for rural migrants looking for job opportunities, but also
the destination for international and Arab tourists and investors. Accordingly, successive
governments have always embarked on drawing future visions for the city. Mubarak’s
government launched the “Cairo 2050” project, which envisaged a “global, green and
connected city”. This project was the subject of controversial opinions and even rejection
as large-​scale projects were not welcomed by many professionals, academics and activists.
Debates about the future of Cairo did not end, even after the 2011 revolution. During
the year of the first civilian government represented by the Muslim Brotherhood (MB)
nothing is worth mentioning regarding urban planning reform or policies and no change
was recorded as that year was marked by instability overshadowing the issues of urban
planning in the Greater Cairo Region (GCR). In 2014, the Economic Forum that took
place in Sharm el Sheikh announced a new era of urban development in Egypt, focusing
on the construction of new cities with the purpose of increasing the urban life footprint
in the Egyptian desert. The New Administrative Capital’s (NAC) model was displayed for
investors. According to Dahshan,2 the Egyptian President Al-​Sisi’s opening speech had a
clear message: “We have a vision”. Many did not know whether to cheer for the confer-
ence outcome, or to criticize it. I was aware of the then recent plans to move the admin-
istrative and financial hubs to a new destination east of Cairo, which should definitely
have an impact on our original capital and its region. Accordingly, Cairo, the congested
dense city, had to be re-​exploited to go beyond the framework of small-​scale projects and
physical land use planning that were prevailing till 2013. Between 2015 and 2021 Cairo

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-27 389

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witnessed the implementation of important national projects, including the Nile Walk
(Mamsha Ahl Masr), ‘Ein el Sira lake area, the transfer of tanneries, the upgrading and
conservation of Historic Cairo, the revival of Khedivial Cairo and the regeneration of
Maspero Triangle project. The multi-​layered city, characterized by a very special cul-
tural model resulting from social, economic and political accumulations, is planned to
earn a new layer. Will this layer strengthen its uniqueness, or will it increase the conflicts
and contradictions in the city? How will the government, particularly the Governorate
of Cairo, manage these very diversified interventions? Are they linked? And what is
their relation with NAC? Many questions arise about the future of Cairo, but the main
question will remain, as AlSayyad3 puts it in his afterword, “Whose Cairo? Whose city?
Is it the city of informal, or of gated communities? Or is it the city of migrant workers?
Will Cairenes feel that this is not the Cairo they knew, and lived in? Will they adapt to
the new modernity?” As a Cairene citizen myself, I believe that despite the changes and
transformations that occurred in Cairo all through its regimes since Mohamed ‘Ali, it
will never lose its charm, nor its international or national appeal. The people’s spirit, the
warmth, the Nile, the memories and the vitality will always remain. Many articles deal
with such dilemmas and with the way Cairenes feel about these transformations. Abaza,4
for example, describes and criticizes in detail the transformations that have taken place
since the revolution. However, she shows some optimism regarding the way downtown
never lost its intellectual and cultural status for the Cairenes. Stewart,5 on the other hand,
describes how changes have been related to the political economy. She explains her per-
spective on the dynamic relationship between the local and external political economic
environments and urban form, which is critically important in the case of cities such
as Cairo.

The Dilemma: Transformations and Changes

In this chapter, I argue that urbanism is debatable and that there is always a tradeoff, a
dilemma that the practitioner is constantly facing. Höijer et al. in their interesting article
“Facing dilemmas” present the concept as a way to understand and analyze the process
of decision-​making and sense-​making by institutions and individuals who are obliged
to make choices and take standpoints on the basis of diverse views,6 while Metzger and
Lindblad argue7 that even if dilemmas are associated with the term “transformations”,
these transformations can be accepted, or can be strongly criticized (which is the case
with the national projects already implemented, or being implemented by the govern-
ment). The government, on the other hand, considers these projects and interventions
as “regenerative development”. Decision-​makers and authorities tend to use the word
“changes”. Both terms reveal the fact that Cairo is witnessing an unprecedented urban
movement that includes both transformations and changes that will probably lead to
morphological mutations, urban transformations and land use changes, thus adding the
new 2020 layer. Nieuwhof8 claims that when change is deep enough it is called trans-
formation, and adds that transformation may modify desires, while Palinkas9 states that
transformation is always significant and large, and requires foundational shifts and modi-
fication of core beliefs. He considers “change” to be a shorter-​term response to external
factors. According to the Merriam Webster dictionary,10 synonyms of transformation are
“transfiguration”, “metamorphosis” and “conversion”, whereas the synonyms of change
are “alteration”, “modification”, “redoing”, “remaking” and “remodeling”. Whether
Cairo is undergoing transformations or changes, there will always be debates about the

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impacts of the proposed projects, and how they will affect the social, environmental, eco-
nomic and cultural aspects of the city. In fact, the most important impact of development
is the transformation that occurs in existing residential neighborhoods, thus affecting the
urban tissue, the ecosystem and the daily practices. While the transformative changes
should make cities regenerative, they require comprehensive political, technological and
financial strategies, enhancing the relationship between cities and their eco-​systems.11 In
the next paragraphs, I describe briefly how changes and transformations in Cairo have
been received since the Nasser period, till 2021.The historical snapshots reveal the major
shifts in the urbanism of Cairo, confirming that urban planning and development are
definitely affected by the economic and the political factors. There is no doubt that the
major political shifts in Egypt have affected urbanization in general and the cities’ trans-
formations in particular.12
The very first architectural and urban transformation in Cairo started to take place
after the 1952 revolution. Selim13 states that at that time modernizing Cairo was not well
received as the schemes to organize Cairo’s urbanism were considered aggressive acts of
urban change that ignored fundamental principles of urban regeneration and replace-
ment of low-​class communities. The upgrading practices displayed Western ideas of
planning and Cairo’s resurgence was shaped by the shift from the colonial past towards
a future exposed to the outer world. In the 60s, Nasser launched the Social Popular
Housing (known as Nasser Housing). However, the lack of maintenance policy and con-
trol has accelerated the deterioration of those neighborhoods. It is worth mentioning that
key administrative buildings were set up in Nasr City, while most of the ministries were
located in El-​Qasr Al-​‘Eini, downtown Cairo.
During the seventies, Cairo witnessed the most aggressive transformations; important
valuable buildings were disappearing. Semiramis Hotel in Garden City was replaced by the
Intercontinental Hotel, the Opera House in Opera Square was replaced by a multistorey
garage and administrative facilities. Later, parks were shrinking and villas in Zamalek
were replaced by apartment buildings without parking facilities, as many garages were
replaced by commercial activities in the ground/​basement floor. But the most aggressive
transformation was the encroachment on the agricultural land and the expansion of
informal areas. Impingement of governmental land became a norm due to the imbalance
between supply and demand on residential units. The social housing was shifting to a
level of informality to fulfill the needs of the residents. The open economy policy caused
the wildest transformations in Cairo, marking a major change in land use in all residen-
tial districts, while downtown experienced a spatial, social and symbolic shift leading
to its transformation from the eminent downtown with its rich culture and magnificent
architecture into a deteriorated mutilated center.14. By the beginning of the eighties, the
buildings’ heights were increasing, according to the prevailing regulations (1.5 × the street
width). The famous upper-​class districts (Zamalek, Ma‘adi, Garden City and Heliopolis)
and the newly developed quarters (Al Mohandesseen, andAl Awqaf) were also hosts to
the unplanned15 mixed uses. These transformations have been regarded from different
perspectives. For the low and middle class and young residents Mohandeseen’s trans-
formation made positive contributions, as the neighborhood transformation brought
plenty of job opportunities, while the older generation sees the transformation as dam-
aging; they hardly see or expect any potential for sustainable progress in the area.16 Today,
under the slogan of the New Republic, not only Cairo but the majority of the Egyptian
cities are undergoing huge transformation. Shortly after June 30th 2013, President
Al-​Sisi declared the “birth of a New State”, as an act of renaissance for Egypt. However,

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many of the projects’ decision-​making processes are not supported by sufficient impact
studies that should guarantee positive and long-​lasting effects. In his article in Al-​Masry
Al-​Youm17 Hassan argues that the current transformation is not only in the structure, but
it is also a transformation of concepts, management systems and behaviors. He believes
that all of this will require new legislations or amendments to existing ones to face the
challenges of the new development trends.

A Practice Narrative
Since the eighties, I have been introduced to the planning of Cairo as a researcher, then
as a practitioner. Studying the agglomeration of Cairo and the impact of the first under-
ground line was the subject of very passionate Ph D research.18 I learned how transpor-
tation and mobility are key factors impacting the development and zoning in cities. In
the meantime, GCR was witnessing the implementation of the ring road, the new cities
and the satellite communities. The urban development movement was noticeable. As a
researcher, my very first impressions were positive; I was aware how the Paris region had
benefited from new cities and satellites. I had great expectations about the connectivity
of these new communities and their role in alleviating the densities in GCR. However,
my concerns about the impacts of the ring road expressed in my first publications were
justified years later.19
I joined the team of consultants in the General Organization for Physical Planning
(GOPP) in 1989. I was introduced to the planning practice through the preparation of
structural plans of small cities. The planning process and related documents at the time
consisted of the conventional structural planning and master planning. Hundreds of
documents were piled on shelves with an unknown destiny, even those approved by the
executive committee of the concerned governorate and the popular council. I discovered
the severe existing governance problems, especially the weak relation between planning
documents and their implementation. I realized that what I had learned throughout my
studies was not enough when facing the issues of planning in Egypt on the ground. On
another level, there were wide gaps between architecture and planning, revealing the
absence of the urban design level. This absence had an impact on the urban form, and
the districts’ morphology. Moreover, the changes of regulations without predicting their
impacts had negative effects on the urbanism of Cairo. In general, the pace of implemen-
tation of planning projects was quite slow, while informal areas were expanding at a very
high speed away from the government control or concern, causing continuous planning,
social and cultural damage.
In the year 1998, I volunteered to design the master plan of the Zenhom project, which
was the first urban renewal project in GCR. Dwellers living in shacks were displaced tem-
porarily to resettle in the same area after renewal. That was my first practical experience
related to informality.
I experienced in this project the importance of the political will and support. I also
learned that, if done in a humane way and people are duly resettled, displacement can
be of much benefit to the people. The biggest challenge in this project was to convince
the officials of the importance of including mixed uses and commercial services in the
master plan. But there was an insistence that mixed uses would lead to randomness and
the spread of street vendors. However, we succeeded to provide the basic commercial ser-
vices in a small market; in the second phase, other primary services were added; a nursery,
a health unit, a police station, a library and the Women’s Community Center.20 Zenhom

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Government Visions: A Planner’s Perspective

was considered a pilot flagship project, and had its share of both criticism and cheers,
exactly like what we are witnessing today with the recent national projects.
Since the mid-​nineties, I was lucky to be a member of the Higher Committee for
Urban Planning in the Governorate of Cairo (HCUP) with a mandate to review all
urban projects and provide support with the decision-​making process. Working closely
with a multidisciplinary committee, with leading professionals in various fields, was an
important pillar in my formation. I had the opportunity to experience the real local
problems, especially informality, including Maspero Triangle problems. This committee
was actively involved in informing the governor and supporting his decisions.
With the turn of the century, strategic planning was introduced into GOPP through
foreign funds.21 Planners and consultants were trained and the UN Habitat Cairo office
assigned the very first exercises to apply the strategic planning to small cities.22 The shift
from conventional planning documents to strategic planning was accompanied by the
change of building and planning law: the Building Law No. 119 of 2008 and its executive
regulations, known as “the Unified Law”, replaced the building law No. 30 of 1983.
Though the strategic planning documents were implementable, they lacked the coord-
ination with the national and regional budget. Moreover, strategic planning had to be
complemented with detailed planning as a follow-​up at the governorate level. Due to the
lack of funding in local units, this step was neglected unless there was an urgent need for
it. Strategic planning entailed the participatory approach, which was hard to implement
within the limited potential of the local government, and the prevailing culture among
citizens. Public interest was not a primary goal. As a consultant, I contributed in several
projects where I encountered issues regarding the participation process. I came to realize
that the concept of participation still had a long way to go in Egypt.
In 2009 the government (GOPP) launched its Egypt 2052 vision, advocating com-
prehensive multi-​approaches where new cities (fourth generation) were foreseen. In the
meantime, Cairo 2050 was released. As Reeve23 states, GOPP members made a pres-
entation including 260 slides entitled Cairo 2050. The vision faced criticism due to its
top-​down approach, delivering mega-​projects ideas that would displace large numbers
of informal area residents in an effort to turn Cairo into a “global city”. This presen-
tation was just a vision without any detailed studies, while Egypt 2052 was the out-
come of the efforts of all ministries, supervised, compiled and monitored by GOPP.
Workshops with stakeholders were organized, and an advisory committee would
review the vision of Egypt 2052, and guide the team into a better product.24 Other
endeavors have also been witnessed. Ibrahim25 cites the example of the Governorate
of Luxor. He describes the proposed plan to increase the role of tourism as aggressive,
resulting in expropriations, relocation and demolitions of parts of the urban fabric in
the city. Though the Luxor plan was also criticized, it was still appreciated by others
who confirmed that the upgrading was essential to brand the old city. It is thus quite
normal to find both proponents and opponents of each national project causing a
major change in the image of places.
In 2010, I joined efforts with AECOM to win the first prize for the revival of Khedivial
Cairo competition. The project was not implemented then, but the proposed strategies
were revisited several times. Recently, a team composed of the Ministry of Housing, the
National Organization for Urban Harmony (NOUH), Cairo Governorate, the Sovereign
Fund, along with the local stakeholders including Ismailia Company and Misr Real
Estate Asset Management Company, is studying different ways to ensure the urban con-
servation and revival of Khedivial Cairo, the main vision being “Downtown for All”.

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While urban planning was taking new grounds, visions and investments as the main
concern for authorities especially in GCR, there was in parallel another manifestation
of change: the 2011 uprisings demonstrating the hopes of the Cairene citizens. At that
time, the gap between people’s aspirations and the decision-​making process was so
huge that it led to disparity of priorities. Recalling Nasser’s achievements, people were
hoping to witness a real reform with the essence of the past. However, the MB (Muslim
Brotherhood) failed to satisfy the expectations during their one year of ruling the
country. During that year, my activities as a practitioner slowed down for many reasons.
Assuming that the country needed all efforts to rebuild its structure, I was engaged in
several volunteer works for Cairo Governorate. I merged professional concerns with edu-
cation, and oriented my students to work on projects in informal areas, with the support
of NGOs that were quite active at the time. The most important achievement right after
the uprising events was revisiting the famous GCR vision and projects. I was invited by
UN Habitat and GOPP to collaborate as a consultant to assist in this task. Projects were
classified and re-​considered, questioning their feasibility within the prevailing situation.
Accordingly, Maspero Triangle was put on hold. The years 2011–​2013 were dormant
planning years that were characterized by weak land management, superficial participa-
tory planning approaches, deficiencies in electricity and potable water supply, deficien-
cies in waste management, and most of all deficiencies in governance, and expansion of
informality. After the fall of MB, following the 30th of June revolution, Al-​Sisi declared
the start of a new reform and construction development plan. It was necessary for the
state to seek the involvement and assistance of experts and consultants who have the cap-
abilities to produce quality work characterized by both rapid achievement and efficiency.
This stage was an important shift regarding the scale of projects.

Looking at Cairo’s Future Plans: Mega Projects at the Heart of Planning

Cairo, the most important city in Egypt, dominates the country in terms of the size of
its population, services and economy. The Egyptian government is currently moving key
administration functions, financial institutions, innovation centers and embassies out of
the heart of Cairo to the “New Administrative Capital” (NAC). The new city is planned
to include smart features with efficient mobility, while Cairo will remain the cultural and
tourism capital, relying on its main original assets and resources.26 Still, Attia and Costis27
question the possibility of transferring the essential administrative functions from Cairo
to the new city. They pose questions such as: will Cairo work more effectively? Does the
future of Cairo require investing in the new capital? What are the main interventions that
would assist in revitalizing the old capital? They claim that creating new hubs will not
prevent further deterioration in Cairo, unless sustainable solutions, efficient governance,
revitalization projects, conservation of valuable districts and elements and the partici-
pation of all stakeholders are enured. Accordingly, they call for the necessity of a wise
balance between constructing a new administrative capital and sustaining the current
capital. In fact the future of Cairo lies in its historical dimension, its socio-​cultural values
and its unique competitive assets, all of which need to be given utmost priority.
The Al-​ Sisi vision draws a map for the future. A special emphasis is given to
informal and unplanned areas, thus seriously addressing urban poverty. Recently he
launched the initiative of “Decent Life” in all Egyptian villages.28 For the unplanned
areas, the upgrading projects are carried out by local and international organizations.

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GIZ (Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Zusammenarbeit) has been playing

an important role on a broad spectrum, from building capacities to implementa-
tion of infrastructure funded by the EU. Their effort in the preparation of the Local
Development Plans (LADP) and the Urban Nexus approach is a remarkable contri-
bution that unplanned areas will significantly benefit from. Working with GIZ, UN
Habitat, AFD and UNDP has revealed the importance of good governance and has
pinpointed the loopholes to consider. While the informal areas (Grade 1 and 2) followed
the path of displacement, the Informal Settlement Development Fund (ISDF) prepared
a complete inventory regarding the priorities for interventions. New housing projects
had to be ready to host the former informal dwellers. A regional road network has also
been an essential part in his plan.
The current mobilization is just another milestone on the path of a long movement
calling for an alternative urban development practice since the 1940s. It is a movement
that stands against a high-​modernist top-​down urban development paradigm that still
controls the scene in Egypt and which Kareem Ibrahim calls “new mode of practice”.29
If we agree with Selim’s30 argument that Nasser’s socialist visions for creating a reformed
state relied on typical models of modern urbanism, we can read and interpret the current
urban movements which she calls “superficial modernization”. The major concerns
as stated by El-​kholei31 are about projects that harm the environment, raise the GHG
emissions and create urban heat islands. He mentions the example of widening the streets
and building flyovers within some neighborhoods like Heliopolis, to ease the traffic and
enhance connectivity between districts of Cairo. He insists that the state should aim for
appropriate and adaptive technologies to achieve sustainable development. He calls for
people-​oriented development. On the other hand, as with other development projects,
many Cairenes cheer for the newly constructed road network as they experience better
and faster mobility.
Certainly, in a short time, Egypt will witness an urban boom. I agree with AlSayyad’s
argument that the future of the urban world lies in cities of the global South, like Cairo,
rather than in the global North.32 Personally, I do not think that the wheel of devel-
opment will stop; however, without human development, Egypt will not achieve its
goals. Capacity-​building and awareness are necessary to achieving comprehensive devel-
opment and contributing to the success of projects and ensuring their sustainability.
Developing infrastructure is essential but cultural, educational and economic develop-
ment should be regarded as priorities to achieve the required change. Moreover, the
aggressive actions such as demolishing valuable buildings or trees and natural areas for
the sake of development have to be controlled to reduce the controversial opinions, and
raise the Cairenes’ sense of belonging and reduce the resentment that such actions might
arouse.

The Maspero Triangle Project

The Maspero project falls within the framework of the objectives of Egypt’s 2030 Vision
of transforming slums and informal areas into areas of distinct urban and economic
value. It is one of the mega projects that aim at adding a new brand to the city of Cairo,
providing a pole to attract investments and achieve the economic dynamism of GCR,
improving the Nile frontage, ensuring the realization of the Cairo vision, and achieving
benefit for the stakeholders. The Maspero site has been approached by several planners

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Figure 24.1 Location of the Maspero Triangle in the heart of Cairo.

and designers with different methodologies and techniques. However, most of the previous
attempts stopped at the planning level as they mainly introduced difficult-​to-​implement
schemes, either due to incomplete studies, not involving the real players in the process,
or because of the absence of State support. This project has been subject to extended
debates, for many reasons, the most relevant being the displacement of the residents.
Other concerns were raised regarding the architectural style and the urban morphology.
Understanding that it is always difficult to satisfy all opinions, the economics of the project
required many decisions.
In 2018, The Government launched several programs to revitalize Cairo, and deal
with informal and unplanned areas. Maspero, lying in the heart of Cairo with an area of
317,482 square meters, in a prime location overlooking the Nile, witnessed its last recent
attempt in 2018 supported by the government after agreements were made with the land-
owners. Alternative housing has been provided for residents who wish to return to the
area after development, while other compensations were offered to the residents, such as
money reimbursement or ready dwelling units in Al-​Asmarat. Maspero is a controversial
case as it has for decades mirrored different political agendas.33 It has always been a chal-
lenging case for politicians, academics and practitioners.

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Description of the Project Site

Maspero is located in the center of Cairo neighboring Khedivial Cairo and bordered
to the west by the Nile Corniche, and to the northwest by the 26th of July Street and
Corridor, and to the southeast by Al-​Gala’ Street. The area includes many important
buildings such as the Television & Radio building (known as Maspero building), the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs building, Ramses Hilton hotel, Royal Vehicles Museum, Abu
Al-​‘Ela Mosque and a famous building belonging to the Italian Consulate. There are also
a number of valuable buildings registered by NOUH. All these buildings were considered
and integrated in the new Master Plan.
The project area was classified by ISDF as informal and unsafe (grade 2) due to its
deteriorated structures, unsafe shelters, lack of primary services, very narrow inaccessible
streets, high density, gender issues, lack of adequate infrastructure, rural pattern of living
in the center of Cairo, and unhealthy environment with poor living conditions. However,
it has for long been an attractive destination for “re-​settlers” from the adjoining/​poor
localities. The most striking feature of the site is the controversial ownership pattern,
which includes fragmented small-​scale ownerships and large-​scale areas. The distribution
of ownerships is presented in Figure 24.4. It shows that the majority of land (43.38%) is
occupied by governmental and important buildings. The area assigned for re-​planning is
about 114,377 square meters (around 36% of the total triangle).
I still remember my very first visit to the inner part of Maspero in the late seventies.
I was still a university student, looking for a famous furniture manufacturer. We
could barely walk in the narrow unpaved streets, and I wondered how the façade of
the area with the Radio & Television Building could successfully hide the atrocious

Figure 24.2 Maspero Triangle boundary, and the major existing buildings.
Source: Google maps.

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Figure 24.3 The deterioration in Maspero before demolition.

Photos taken by M. Haroun for the author.

situation of the inner part! Why would furniture workshops be located in a neighborhood
overlooking the Nile? I had to revisit the area a few times afterwards to follow up
on my selected pieces, and every time I had the same thoughts. Ten years later, I revisited
the area, and I noticed that the buildings were in even shoddier condition. The increase
in the number of cars parking along the narrow streets made them even narrower. At that
time I was formally an academic and a planner, and, recalling how major cities deal with
their waterfronts, I kept thinking of what should be done about this area.

A History of Prior Concerns Regarding the Maspero Triangle

I was first introduced to the case of Maspero in the mid-​90s after the earthquake that
struck Cairo in 1992. Maspero was then considered a squatted informal area, where few
buildings collapsed as in many other deteriorated and informal areas. At that time, a
group of Arab investors submitted a proposal to the Governor of Cairo for a mega pro-
ject consisting of high-​rise buildings overlooking the Nile. The project was presented to

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Government Visions: A Planner’s Perspective

Figure 24.4 The distribution of land ownership before land re-​adjustment.

Source: ISDF.

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the HCUP in Cairo Governorate. The committee decided that the project could not be
implemented, as the footprint of the buildings did not allow for sufficient public spaces,
and no detailed studies were conducted, especially regarding the land ownership and
the traffic impacts. The major obstacle facing the project was the residents, since no
alternatives to resettle them were offered. Accordingly, the development of the area was
postponed until further studies were conducted. In 2005 E‘mar Company assigned the
task of developing the Maspero area to WATG. The conceptual master plan was not
approved as it ignored both the land ownerships and finding solutions for the residents.
A few years later, Maspero Company was founded for the purpose of managing the area,
defining ownerships and processing the re-​development course. In 2010, I was assigned
the task of preparing the conceptual Master Plan of the Triangle, to complement the
revival of Khedivial Cairo that should maintain its valuable buildings and morphology.
The socio-​economic survey of the residents would be carried by a specialized firm.
However, the project was put on hold due to the 2011 revolution. The urban and socio-​
economic scene took another path after the revolution and a new attempt by urbanists
was made focusing on the participatory approach as a main component of the upgrading
process. Still, the project was too theoretical, and did not rely on an actual database nor
did it seem to consider the land ownership complexity.
In December 2014, The Supreme Council for Planning and Urban Development held
its eleventh meeting, chaired by the Prime Minister,34 declaring the Maspero Triangle as
a re-​planning area because of its high economic value. The former Minister of Urban
Renewal and Informal Settlements (MURIS), who was in charge of the project at the time,
initiated the participatory approach to deal with the area. I was then invited to attend a
workshop organized by MURIS for the Maspero civil society. The discussion mainly
focused on negotiations about the compensation. They were aware, but with a degree of
suspicion, that they would be displaced at least temporarily until the redevelopment was
done. In fact, the residents did not share the same keenness on living in Maspero after the
project completion; some would prefer to stay, others would rather take money and buy
their own apartments elsewhere; some of them were owners, while others were renters.35
In the meantime, in collaboration with the Ministry of Housing, MURIS organized an
international competition for the best ideas for this area. The projects presented were
diverse; eventually, the Foster and Partners firm won the competition. However, none
of the proposals, even the winning project, provided feasible, implementable solutions
regarding the land ownership.
In 2018, within the Cairo Vision programs, a steering committee for Maspero Triangle
was formed, headed by the Minister of Housing and including all stakeholders: ISDF,
Cairo Governorate, NUCA and all relevant parties. The major concern was the process
of dealing with the residents and the land owners. They were offered three options, either
to return to the Maspero area after the redevelopment, to receive financial compensa-
tion, or to be relocated in the new Asmarat district. According to the surveys carried out
by the Urban Upgrading Unit (UUU) in Cairo Governorate and the ISDF, out of the
4,665 families 885 families chose to return to Maspero, around 444 families opted for
Al Asmarat district, while a majority of 3,336 families got their financial compensation.
The land owners were required to provide proof of ownership and agree on the land re-​
adjustment process, which seemed to be the proper planning tool to guarantee the right
to the land ownership.
In 2019 the Prime Minister36 announced the expropriation of 915 plots. The deci-
sion set two options for demanding expropriation compensation. The first option was

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to obtain compensation based on the value of shares in the area’s lands, according to
the evaluation of the Real Estate Evaluation Committee issued by the Cairo Governor’s
decision. The second option was to acquire compensation after the implementation of
the re-​planning project on the basis of estimating the share of the expropriated land from
the total value of the plots of land at their new value according to the estimates of the
competent authorities, after excluding those allocated for roads and public services and
deducting the costs of implementing the project.37 The decision included the expropri-
ation of those lands whose owners refused to participate in the development project, or
did not submit documents proving ownership.38
Using the land re-​adjustment tool, the master plan was conceived to allocate the initial
residents on the land owned by the government as a priority, and the remaining private
owners’ land was dealt with by distributing and providing new parcels, considering the
public spaces, the main road network and the needed infrastructure. Figure 24.5 describes
the proposed master plan that was approved by the executive committee in the Cairo gov-
ernorate, and illustrates the design of the public realm as a key to the project. A central
open space has been created at the heart of the neighborhood for community events; the
mixed uses demonstrate the complementarity with Khedivial Cairo. The figure shows
the location of the alternative housing, which is more detailed in Figure 24.6, and the
relocation site for the buildings overlooking the Nile. Figure 24.7 shows the building style
and the heights necessary to allocate all the needed dwellings on the government land

Figure 24.5 Approved master plan for Maspero Triangle.

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402

Figure 24.6 Layout of the relocation housing in Maspero Triangle.

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Government Visions: A Planner’s Perspective

Figure 24.7 Relocation housing in Maspero.

(approximately 33,000 square meters), with two floors of parking lots, and commercial
activities in the ground floor to compensate the shop owners.
Still, the demolishing of the area was not welcomed by many activists, writers, and
academics. Khalil39 claims it is a forced eviction and that the government played the
game of the participatory project, but then they forced the families to choose to leave.
However, that is not really the case. Being a member in the steering committee, and
closely following the entire process, I can ratify that the residents were given complete
freedom to return to the area if they wished to, in which case they would receive a tem-
porary housing allowance offered by the government to cover their housing expenses for
the redevelopment three-​year period. Khalil believes it is a planned gentrification which
is actually expected to happen in the remaining plots owned by the private sector. For
Wahba,40 activist and academic, Maspero is a story of a “negotiated failure”. She argues
that demolishing an entire neighborhood has a political intention, that of crushing street
politics and dismantling the political laboratories. In this sense I would agree with Wahba
if Maspero was just an unplanned area where residents were residing on government
land, or their owned land, or if the area had the minimum requirement of services and
infrastructure. But in this case the land is owned by individuals and Arab companies
who seek the right to their land, while the infrastructure is completely absent. In a public
meeting attended by residents, the government representatives confirmed that develop-
ment in partnership will consider all residents’ benefits, that there is no forced evictions
with compensation, and that the area is an important part of Cairo’s heart, so it must
reflect its identity.41. Wahba argues that displacing people from their homes is inhuman,
and stresses the importance of the relation between human beings and space. But what
space? What quality of life? How would the children grow up in an area that lacks the

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Figure 24.8 Informality in Maspero Triangle.

basic essential services? No doubt that people are attached to their places, but they also
should have a decent life. Research was conducted for the African Development Bank
to evaluate the relocation of former unsafe areas’ residents, including Maspero, in Al
Asmarat. The relocated families complained about having to leave their homes, but they
acknowledged the benefit of relocation for their children, the clean environment, and the
proximity and availability of primary services. Figure 24.8 can best describe the quality
of the environment prior to the redevelopment and regeneration project.
The dilemma of deciding whether residents should be displaced or not depends
on many factors, especially the cultural considerations and the mobility patterns of
Egyptians. Florin42 discusses the case of Masakin al Zilzal (Earthquake Housing Units),
where families were relocated after the 1992 earthquake. She believes that these families
had the ability to adjust and adapt to the new situation rapidly. Theoretically, displace-
ment is the last accepted solution, or at least it is preferable to relocate them in the same
site; definitely, improvement in situations remains the best approach. But practically, there
are many factors that would impact the decision. The case of Maspero as interpreted by
many is a clear case of displacement that shouldn’t happen; however, the site location,
the land ownership, the deterioration and unsafeness and the possibility of returning to
the area after regeneration are factors to consider. In fact, urban regeneration, renewal
and revitalization should be viewed differently than a normal planning process. In the
International Guidelines on Urban and Territorial Planning,43 a transformative renewal
strategy is one of five key lessons that are underscored, which showcase how sustain-
able urban development can be triggered. Lessons learned from this project include the
importance of the political support in re-​planning projects, especially if using the land re-​
adjustment tool. Good governance is the key to ensure implementation, whether we agree
or disagree on the outcome, and finally top-​down and bottom-​up approaches both have
their weaknesses and strengths; they both should be used, coordinated and integrated
successfully, which poses a considerable challenge for the planner.

Theorizing a Practice: Towards a Conclusion

Forsyth44 suggests that theory and practice are not incompatible, an argument which
I totally agree with, especially when she confirms that theory informs practice and, on
the other hand, practice tests and shapes theory . However, there is a big gap in Egypt

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between theory and practice: what is taught in urban and planning theories cannot be
applied without shaping them to meet the reality, and the Government’s vision. From
my point of view there is always a way where the consultants could inform the decision-​
makers. If we cannot realize it all, we shouldn’t leave it all. It is important to keep arguing
and believing that theory and practice should reinforce each other. If the decision is taken,
our role is to alleviate the consequences, and adjust the solutions for the best interest of
the users. In fact, social welfare should always be the main objective. Wahdan’s45 opinion
about the socialist’s welfare is that it did not succeed to ameliorate the uneven spatial
distribution fairly. She mentions three main factors that contributed to the unsuccessful
result of national planning at the time; the strongest one in my opinion is the nature of
power relations within the development and planning industry. Planners of the ’60s and
’70s viewed their task scientifically and theoretically; planning was a process with defined
methodology. In recent years planning globally is more of a business model study; the
planning process is unpacked into terms of economy and investments. However, the par-
ticipatory approach is present and directs solutions in many countries.
According to Whittmore46 there are eight procedural planning theories that represent
the principal theories of planning bridging the academy and practice. These are: the
rational-​comprehensive approach, the communicative approach, the advocacy approach,
the radical approach, the transactive approach, the incremental approach, the humanist
or phenomenological approach and the equity approach . By grounding these theories
in the contemporary experiences of planners, practitioners can better grasp a planning
theory and understand its continued relevance to each project/​case. The case of Maspero
was seen from a humanist perspective, or equity approach, while the state followed
a rational top-​down decision-​making approach to ensure the implementation of the
informal areas programs, and to ensure that the land re-​adjustment process is achieved
in the best interest of all stakeholders. More recently Avin and Goodspeed47 reviewed
the exploratory scenario in planning using case examples; the takeaway for practice is
interesting as they consider that exploratory scenarios are effective for analyzing uncer-
tainty during the planning process. They can be incorporated into planning practice in
different ways, ranging from workshops among experts to complex projects that result
in detailed recommendations for plans. Drawing on the case I am presenting in this
chapter, the exploratory planning method has proved adequate, taking into account the
context, the history and background of the project, and the goals of decision-​makers.
However, it is essential that the Egyptian government addresses the impact of mega
projects to successfully implement the sustainable development agenda: understanding,
anticipating and weighing the positive and negative impacts on people, environment,
economy and mobility to ensure the success of these projects. Negative impacts can be
avoided with alternative solutions, especially when they affect people or the collective
memory. Moreover, consultants, governments and stakeholders have to consider the
increase in densities, natural disasters, climate change and the global economic crises
especially during the current pandemic era, all of which directly affect humans. The
main concern should focus on the well-​being and health of citizens. Working with gov-
ernmental bodies is definitely not easy; it requires flexibility, wise decision-​making,
smartness and accepting challenges that intermingle with policy-​makers’ aspirations.
However, the practitioner will enjoy exploration, innovation and achievements. The
success of planners is measured by the ability to achieve maximum balance between the
government urban policy and the public interest without jeopardizing their integrity and
credibility.

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Notes
1 M. El Sayed (2013).
2 M. Dahshan (2015).
3 N. AlSayyad (2009).
4 M. Abaza (2017).
5 D.J. Stewart (1999).
6 B. Höijer, R. Lidskog, and Y. Uggla (2006).
7 J. Metzger and J. Lindblad (eds.) (2020).
8 C. Nieuwhof.
9 J. Palinkas.
10 “Transformation.” Merriam-​Webster, www.merr​iam-​webs​ter.com/​dic​tion​ary/​tra​nsfo​rmat​ion.
Accessed 3 July 2021.
11 H. Girardet.
12 S. Attia (2017)
13 G. Selim (2016).
14 S. Attia (2013).
15 Unplanned in the sense of insufficient infrastructure, insufficient parking lots, and mostly
lacking efficient district management.
16 M. Donelson, G. Vignola, W. Dickhaut and X. Haveriku (2018).
17 A. Hassan (2021).
18 S. Attia (1989) Les Impacts du nouveau métro du Caire: Etude des effets de la première ligne
Helwan-​Ramsès sur le dynamisme du Sud de l’agglomération cairote. PhD Dissertation,
Universite Paris 12, Val De Marne, Creteil. France.
19 My first article was about the impacts of the ring road published in Al-​Azhar conference
proceedings. “The ring road: a tool to control urban development in the Greater Cairo region.”
20 The area had already a youth center, different schools and a mosque .
21 The effort of the Swedish Aid and UN Habitat were recognizable for the initiation of the stra-
tegic plans in Egypt.
22 Started in 2006 the first set of cities.
23 C. Reeve (2011).
24 I was a member in this committee, being among a very qualified group of experts, and leading
professionals was a very knowledgeable experience.
25 K. Ibrahim (2014).
26 S. Attia and C. Toregas (2019).
27 Ibid.
28 The Decent Life initiative is launched by President Al-​Sisi to improve the quality of life in 4,500
villages across Egypt, aiming at providing a decent life for the most vulnerable rural areas.
29 K. Ibrahim (2014).
30 G. Selim (2016).
31 A. Elkholei (2020).
32 N. AlSayyad 2009.
33 M.M. Hendawy (2015).
34 The PM was Eng. Ibrahim Mahlab at that time.
35 M.M. Hendawy (2015).
36 Dr. Mostafa Madbouli took over the cabinet in June 2018.
37 Bawabet Al Shorouk (23 March 2019). www.shor​oukn​ews.com/​news/​view.aspx?cdate=​23032​
019&id=​5ffd9​7f0-​ba1c-​4a42-​9654-​3ecb6​1793​e91.
38 The expropriation did not include the row of buildings facing the Nile; this section of the tri-
angle will be dealt with in a second stage after the construction of new building apartments to
relocate the residents before expropriation, providing adequate alternative housing .
39 O. Khalil (2018).
40 D. Wahba (2020).
41 O. Alameddin, M. Elmahdy and, A. Elbialy (2019).
42 B. Florin (2009).
43 L. Aldon, S. Allou, S. Attia, B. Bariol-​Mathais, et al. (2015).
44 A. Forsyth (2021).

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45 D. Wahdan (2007).
46 A.H. Whittemore (2014).
47 U. Avin and R. Goodspeed (2020).

All images are by the author. Associated consultants unless otherwise indicated.

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And Territorial Planning:Towards a Compendium of Inspiring Practices. UN Habitat.
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Dahshan, M. (2015). What the Economic Conference Got Right, and Wrong, in Sharm
el-​Sheikh: The Scorecard. 25 March 2015 .https://​timep.org/​repo​rts-​briefi​ngs/​spec​ial-​repo​rts/​
what-​the-​econo​mic-​con​fere​nce-​got-​right-​and-​wrong-​in-​sharm-​el-​she​ikh-​the-​scorec​ard/​.
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(GAT) 64(2).
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Alternative Policy Solution, https://​aps.auceg​ypt.edu/​en/​artic​les/​455/​does-​urban-​plann​ing-​in-​
egypt-​addr​ess-​enviro​nmen​tal-​iss​ues-​and-​soc​ial-​just​ice.
Florin, B. (2009). Banished by the quake: urban Cairenes displaced from the historic center to the
desert periphery. In Singerman, D. (ed.), Cairo Contested: Governance, Urban Space & Global
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Forsyth, A. (2021). Theories and planning theories. Journal of the American Planning Association
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25
THE TRANSFORMATION
OF PUBLIC SPACE IN POST-​
REVOLUTIONARY CAIRO
A Diary from Tahrir, 2011–​2013

Mona Abaza

For a few years after the January 2011 revolution, volatility, insecurity and often fear
provoked by not knowing when violence would erupt were the feelings that accompanied
anyone going to Tahrir Square. Right after the revolution, different political movements
competed over the legitimacy of the epicenter of the events –​the Salafis, the Muslim
Brothers, thugs (balṭageya) allegedly paid by internal security to sexually harass female
protesters and intimidate them, as well as the internal security forces and the military
police acting against the revolutionaries. All these forces were fighting to take hold of
the space of Tahrir, to such an extent that Tahrir Square created its own independent
life. Tahrir attracted the survivors of the informal economy: the ambulant salesmen
of the consumer gadgets and the paraphernalia of the revolution (flags, badges, T-​shirts,
toys, tags, accessories and so on); the vendors of maize, sweet potatoes, local desserts, tea
and coffee; the peddlers of mobile phones; and the street children who were always in
the square after the outbreak of the revolution. Many were unfortunately victims of the
violence. All this added to the image of the square as a space that looked like a bazaar or
popular market.
Cairo was witnessing tumultuous moments and struggles over the conquest of public
spaces. The sineyya –​the center, the circle or the roundabout in the middle of Tahrir
Square –​continued throughout 2011 to epitomize the physical and symbolic seizure
of power for both the revolutionaries and the military. But the struggles extended far
beyond the sineyya to not only include other public squares (like ʿAbdin and Sulayman
Pasha, when Tahrir was either becoming too dangerous or had been re-​conquered by the
army, which evicted the protestors), but to also incorporate protest graffiti on the walls.
The idea was to spread the spirit of Tahrir to all the squares of Egypt.

Segregating Walls, Zoning

Whether the revolution has succeeded or not –​many believe that it is best to define it as
incomplete –​Tahrir Square did trigger a powerful process for advocacy of freedom and

DOI: 10.4324/9781003019992-28 409

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Mona Abaza

democracy by reshaping street politics. The effective power of public spaces has been
discovered as a useful means of putting pressure on the military junta. The square became
the space per se for contestation, for grieving and for public performance, painting and
filming. Tahrir triggered a new visual culture. It became the spot to film and to be filmed,
as well as being a space in which to see others and to be seen.
This new public culture is reformulating a novel understanding of public spaces as
spaces of contestation, of communication of artistic expression or public interaction,
and as spaces of the “spectacle”, as Samia Mehrez argues.1. The offline world there
was interacting with the world of the online, which was being given a free hand via the
growing significance of YouTube postings of photography and documentary films that
were then screened or exhibited in public spaces. YouTube posting was allowing large
audiences of Facebook members to follow the events in Tahrir by the minute. This was
certainly transforming the visual landscape and people’s behavior in public spaces. Yet,
this public culture was emerging as part of a reshaping of the city, which was experien-
cing a precarious moment under military rule.
This reshaping could be characterized by two parallel phenomena. On the one hand,
the city was witnessing localized war zones that were followed by the erection of barriers,
barricades and controlled areas. The Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF)
thought it could solve the problem of confrontations with the protestors by erecting
isolating walls, and spraying internationally sanctioned lethal gas and teargas, which
not only rendered mobility impossible but also made daily life in the downtown area
surrounding Tahrir Square simply unbearable for its residents. The walling of entire
areas also paralyzed the economic life of the small shopkeepers, coffee shops, taxi drivers
and the large downtown informal economy. That is why it was often the residents who
demanded the removal of these barricades erected after violent clashes2 (Figure 25.1).
The walling, as a buffer zone between protesters and the police, was first implemented
in November 2011 in Mohammed Mahmoud Street. This was when more than 40
protesters were killed by the police after the Central Security Forces used extreme vio-
lence to push them away from Tahrir Square. What inflamed people’s anger was the vio-
lence used against the martyrs’ families who were squatting in the square. More walls were
later erected in December 2011 following the protests in front of the Cabinet Building
because of the contested appointment of Minister Ganzuri by the SCAF, which led to
even more violent clashes culminating in the burning of the Egyptian Scientific Complex.
This incident led to many more deaths. The security forces then constructed another wall,
completely blocking Sheikh Rihan Street, parallel to Mohammed Mahmoud Street. Also
another wall, blocking Kasr al-​‘Ainy Street, was erected, and so on. By February 2012,
the number of walls around the area of Mohammed Mahmoud, Noubar and Mansur
Sheikh Rihan streets had reached eight walls, not to count the wired zones in front of the
Ministry of Interior, and the blocking tanks and large green police vehicles.3
The military regime seems to have learnt its lesson from the frozen moment of the
18 days of January 2011, which paralyzed the entire city and thus was effective in the
downfall of the regime. Now they were countering the revolutionaries by “zoning” and
squeezing the protesters to segregate them in limited spaces of war. This was also a tactic
to have the revolutionaries blamed for paralyzing downtown, while “normalizing” the
rest of the circulation, and the business and bank sectors of the city.
Erecting and destroying walls (in February 2012 the protesters managed to demolish
the Mohammed Mahmoud wall that had been erected in December 2011) was becoming
a powerful symbol of oppression as well as of resistance. Zoning goes together with

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.1 Walling, isolating, segregating … .

dividing the city into two spaces: the normalized versus the war zone. It was also one way
of making citizens acquainted with violence and rendering it a banality, which one had
to cope with on a daily basis.

The Urge to Document, Archive and Film the Revolution

The revolution triggered a strong urge to document, classify and record every moment
experienced in Tahrir. Amongst other initiatives, a group of historians headed by Khaled
Fahmy from the American University in Cairo (AUC) called themselves the Committee
to Document the 25 January Revolution. It has been their intention to make documents
available to everyone, which has not been the case so far. The AUC also created another
archive where testimonies about the revolution were collected.4
The year 2011 was a heyday for documentary films, such as the recently released Tahrir
2011: The Good, The Bad and the Politician (Al Tahrir 2011: Al Tayib wa al Sharis wa al
Siyassi, 2011) by ʿAmr Salama, Ayten Amin and Tamer ʿEzzatand In Tahrir Square: 18
Days of Egypt’s Unfinished Revolution by Jon Alpert and Matthew O’Neill (2011).
Reporting … a Revolution (Al Thawra … Khabar, 2011) is a documentary about seven
reporters from al-​Masry al-​Yawm newspaper who covered the revolution. Recording the
event by filming, photographing and collecting the activists’ stories is quite timely. For
example, Al Jazeera English has already produced several documentaries based on the
testimonies of the revolution.

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Tahrir continued to be the greatest inspiration for photography. AUC Press had already
published three photography books and a calendar in less than six months following the
revolution. Also, numerous exhibitions took place at various cultural centers, private art
galleries, universities and state institutions, in addition to the courageous and inspiring
work of many activists, bloggers, photo journalists or simply amateurs who displayed the
most eye-​catching photos of Tahrir via Facebook and blogs.
This reveals two points. First, the status of photography was then undergoing a fas-
cinating positive evolution in Egypt, after long decades of marginalization, suspicion
and association with either “spying” or debasing the “locals” by making them into curi-
osity objects. Photography had been rather devalued as a practice mostly restricted to the
privileged Western fascinated gaze. Tahrir made it possible for the Egyptian masses to
appropriate photography and democratize it, paradoxically with the very tools of mass
culture. The square became the “spot” for taking photos and for being photographed and
filmed. It became the Mecca for ordinary people to take pride in being photographed
with mobile phones, which are affordable today for even the poorest classes.
The sit-​ins, the marches and the demonstrations attracted ever-​increasing coverage
by local and foreign photographers and journalists from newspapers such as Ahram
Online, al-​Masry al-​Yawm and al-​Shurouk. Some of these people lost their lives or their
eyes during the Mohammed Mahmoud and Mansour street events of November 2011.
More recently, photographer Salma Saʿid, an activist from the group Mosireen (“We Are
Relentless”), which promotes the idea of “film activism”, was peppered with over a hun-
dred birdshot pellets to the face, stomach and legs when she stood against the police on
February 5, 2011.5
Also, the numerous exhibitions that were taking place place during that period open
up questions for the future about how photographic displays –​as collective, collaborative
works with multiple and yet merging narratives and paths –​might be displayed in novel
ways in public spaces and street installations. Particularly fascinating was the collective
exhibition by 14 photographers at Gezira Art Center entitled “People –​The Red Line”
on November 16, 2011, which documented the revolution, not only in the square and
its surroundings but also through its impact on the daily life of the poor. Some photos
were shot one year before the revolution in demonstrations, strikes and churches after the
killings of Copts. These were premonitions of what unfolded in January 2011.6

Public Screenings and Performances

Collective street paintings became more common than ever before. This has triggered
new ways of looking at public installations, such as the one-​minute time-​lapse online
video produced by Pierre Kattar of the Young Artists Coalition’s “Tal‘aat Harb Mural”.7
El Fann Midan (“Art/​Square” or “Art is the Square”) is an endeavor undertaken by the
Independent Cultural Coalition, which advertises itself as “A cultural coalition in the
squares and the streets of Egypt”.8 The foundation has been very active in promoting
public performances and exhibiting artworks in public squares all over Egypt. For
example, after the November 2011 clashes in Tahrir, painter Mohammed Abla managed
to exhibit a series of paintings entitled “Wolves”, which was a direct attack on the violence
perpetrated by the military and security forces. In his paintings we see the unforgettable
dragging of a female protestor along the street by the helmeted policemen, in such a
way that her clothes were ripped to reveal her blue bra. Mohammed ʿAbla was only able

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.2 Mohamed Abla’s painting, Wolves, January 28, 2012.

to exhibit his paintings for one day at ʿAbdin Square on the first Saturday of January
2012. He then exhibited it briefly in Tahrir (Figure 25.2).
YouTube videos gained such prominence not only through Facebook but also else-
where on the internet and via iPhones. Hundreds, if not thousands, of inspiring and
imaginative YouTube songs, short comments, jokes, cartoons and artworks defending
the revolution have been circulated. A wonderful collective work appeared on YouTube
produced by numerous actors who narrated in a lyrical style the moments of the revolu-
tion in their clip entitled Baladna bil Masry; “Operette Hikayat al-​Thawra” (Our Country
in Egyptian language, the Story of the Revolution Operette). Taxi Band Magnoon (mad)
is an anti-​authoritarian, sardonic song about madness and sanity (why is it madness if
one wants to transform the country?).9
The idea of creating a Tahrir cinema was born, followed by instituting “an archive of
material and footage … to be stored in a public place”.10 All of these public performances
coincided with the remarkable popularity of TEDx Cairo Talks, another form of public
performance which was conceived to encourage visionary perspectives and inspiring story
telling.11 Amongst the most inspiring speakers was Google executive Wael Ghoneim, who
set up a Facebook page memorializing a victim of government violence.12 Also powerful
was Bassem Youssef, another sardonic, brilliant YouTube contributor who documented
the Tahrir days in his peculiar highly ironic style, reaching out to thousands of viewers
from a tiny room, which he divided into his studio and a space for hanging up the family
washing.13 Beautiful and ironic Monatov is a young female YouTube video maker, who
exposed the lies and madness of the media in the first days of the revolution in her videos
Aqwa Aflam al-​Mawsim (“The Best Films of the Season”) and GaddafiLeaks, in which
she produced a biting parody of Gaddafi.14
All of these examples have a common denominator: they are inventing new public
spaces, which are merging with the virtual imaginary. These are public spaces that are

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Mona Abaza

produced through collective performances and actions. By displaying in public the

grievances, demands, performances and knowledge for “public archives”, as a form of
knowledge for which “nobody needs permits any more”, as filmmaker Omar Robert
Hamilton stated,15 these practices converged toward new ways of imagining and prac-
ticing democratic advocacy. These novel practices were associated with public visibility
and imagery through collective performances in which humor is sovereign. They remain
most dreaded and uncontrollable for authoritarianism, since history tells us that humor
has always been authoritarianism’s nemesis.
Ḥakawi al-​taḥrir (“Tahrir Monologues”) was one of the most moving performances.
A group of some 18 young women and men narrate their own experiences during the
18 days of Tahrir in January 2011. On stage, each actor recalled the minute details, the
fear and angst, and the attacks and retreats that they experienced during the deadliest
days of brutality and violence. The idea came from Sundus Shabayek, a young journalist
in her early twenties whose message was that this revolution was not just as reporting
but about being involved in making the revolution. The group was performing in various
parts of Egypt, including in bookshops and theaters.
Kazeboon (“Liars” Campaign, or the “Generals are Liars” Campaign) was another
significant act launched by a group of activists to propose a counter-​narrative to the
SCAF and to expose their violence by screening footage of the army’s torturing and
killing. The availability of the videos through YouTube allowed them to be shown all
over Egypt. Kazeboon was screened in working-​class neighborhoods as well as middle-​
class suburbs. The organizers often encountered opposition from the police and paid
thugs, who attacked them and stopped the screenings.16. Especially interesting is that
people’s reactions to the Kazeboon films were taped and included in some of the YouTube
videos that were screened elsewhere. Some screenings triggered violent reactions and a
state of bewilderment because they represented a direct attack on the army. The counter-​
revolution had been feeding on the sentiment that the army was the only remaining insti-
tution that held the country together, so to attack it would mean to destroy the country.
However, it was clear that such performances did trigger pro-​revolution sentiments as
well as anger and clashes with the campaigners.
Kazeboon was also aired by the al-​Tahrir pro-​revolution TV channel, led by talk-​show
presenter Dina ʿAbdel Rahman. As a result, her program was axed without her even
being notified, an incident protested against by the Arab Network for Human Rights
Information.17

Graffiti
Street graffiti underwent a fascinating boom in Cairo and Alexandria after the ousting of
Mubarak. Newspaper articles, exhibitions, talk shows and installations have all focused
on clandestine street art and artists. Multiple publications emerged offering compilations
of the differing graffiti styles that were flooding the city of Cairo, be it the pro-​revolution
installations and art exhibitions that took place in Europe, or the fantastic sardonic graffiti
which blossomed in the city and whose success one can follow on the Facebook page
“Revolution Graffiti”.18 Graffiti was perceived as an underworld clandestine art; it was a
forbidden act for those wanting to establish public order and cleanliness and defend official
culture. Yet, it was one of the most fascinating means of disseminating dissenting ideas
and innovative images while maintaining anonymity, because it was often drawn without
any signature. Who would have believed that the monumental administration building,

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.3 On the walls of the Mugama’.

the colossal Mugamaʿ, could have been turned into the ideal space for expressing creativity
and dissent? Who could have imagined colorful and ironic anti-​ government satirical
paintings on Mugamaʿ’s walls? Who would have believed that we can speak todayof
a specific “Mugamaʿ Graffiti” that has caught the attention of many, including the down-
town visionary Pierre Sioufi, who is known for his courage in sheltering hundreds in his
flat to view Tahrir during the revolution19 (Figure 25.3).
Graffiti was also a major theme handled with great intelligence and sensitivity in the
2010 by Ahmed ʿAbdalla, in “Microphone”, which has already won several awards.
English slogans interplay with Arabic language, placards, public drawings, public
demands, joke after joke, painting one’s body and face as a site for protest, making one’s
body an iconic site, and continuous occupation –​all these reveal how public space and,
with it, public expression is taking a new turn. The “blue bra” of the unknown female
protester has turned into an iconic symbol since December 2011. Millions watched the
humiliating act of the veiled female protestor being dragged along the street, kicked in
the belly with a soldier’s boot and stripped of her black cloak showing her blue bra.
Since then the city’s murals and barricades have been filled with hundreds of blue bras.
Ironically, the blue bra turned into a symbol of national contestation against the SCAF
ever since some Salafi shaikhs and pro-​Mubarak talk-​show speakers used the blue bra
to smear her as a prostitute who deserved to be beaten up and stripped naked in public.
These counter-​revolutionaries evidently ignored the simple fact of the violation of human
rights, not to mention that none of those shaikhs ever thought about the fact that it was
a public humiliation that targeted women specifically. In fact, what they implied was that

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Mona Abaza

Figure 25.4 Blue bra graffiti.

any woman in the street ought to be assaulted because she chose to be in the street and
a woman’s place is, self-​evidently, at home. These horrifying statements were then turned
against them, to become the butt of jokes and biting comments. This led in December
2011 to one of the most significant women’s demonstrations against the SCAF policies,
policies that only led to the systematic escalation of sexual harassment, rape, gender
humiliation and violent attacks on protesters. The blue bra then abounded in so many
works of graffiti and became a major theme for several artists (Figure 25.4).
If one were to compare the many murals around the city, one would realize that
Egyptian cities are today witnessing a rich variety of highly sardonic and imaginative
styles for conveying political dissent. Recently, graffiti artist Keizer has attracted much
attention from the press for his powerful images combining direct and witty slogans.
What grabbed my attention most is a statement in Arabic: “If you are not part of the
solution, you are part of the problem”. His recent sardonic portraits of former pro-​
Mubarak Minister of Antiquities Zahi Hawass were accompanied by statements such
as “traitor to the Pharaohs”. As for the famous actor ‘Adel Imam, who expressed anti-​
revolutionary sentiments in January 2011, Keizer drew a portrait of him, followed by the
comment, “Raḥet ‘ʿAleik ya Zaʿim”, (“You have missed the bandwagon, leader”). The
former Minister of Interior Habib al-​‘Adly’s portrait is accompanied by a rhyming sen-
tence: “ ‘Adl el-​Nahardah ya ‘Adly” (“Justice today, ‘Adly”), playing on the words ‘Adl
(justice) and ‘Adly (derived from the word for justice). His jokes are short and to the point.
The Sad Panda is another piece of graffiti found all over the city. It became famous
with the following slogan: “al-​mushir mikhallini hazin akthar” (“the Marshal Makes Me
Even Sadder”). Another rising star was Ganzeer, who was arrested with two other artists
in May 2011. The arrests made him even better known for his daring drawing of a huge
tank standing in front of a cyclist carrying a large tray of bread over his head. Ganzeer
was detained mainly because he posted a sticker of the “Mask of Freedom”, which must
have infuriated the SCAF20 (Figure 25.5). But this was not the end. On 20–​21 May 2011,

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.5 Ganzeer’s mask of freedom.

From http://​ganz​eer.blogs​pot.com/​.

Ganzeer launched a successful campaign that he called “The Mad Graffiti Week”, which
was picked up and resulted in hundreds of anonymous graffiti that filled the city.21

Mohammed Mahmoud Street

Mohammed Mahmoud Street is one of the main streets leading to Tahrir Square, which
includes one of the main entrances to the old campus of the AUC. This street will
remain a memorable space for the revolution because it witnessed a series of the most
dramatic and violent moments.. It was renamed by the revolutionaries as Shariʿ ‘uyun
al-​ḥurriyyah (“the street of the eyes of freedom”) after so many protesters lost their eyes
to the rubber bullets of officers and snipers who targeted the protesters with extreme pre-
cision (Figure 25.6).
The street also witnessed the erection of an cement block wall in December 2011 that
cut it in the middle, and then the destruction of this same wall in February 2012 by the
revolutionaries and the residents. More importantly, though, throughout 2011, the wall
of the old campus of the AUC witnessed fantastic mutations on a weekly basis. These
transformations were epitomized by a conflict over painting the walls –​a contest between
the graffiti painters and the military forces, who repeatedly whitewashed the walls in a

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Mona Abaza

Figure 25.6 Graffiti on “the street of the eyes of freedom”, December 15, 2011.

hopeless attempt to eliminate the mocking slogans and drawings. If the SCAF still had
the upper hand in running the country, on the symbolic level it had lost the respect of
the street. The evidence is graffiti, which was relentlessly ridiculing and insulting the
establishment on these murals. Apart from mockery, the theme of commemorating the
martyrs was the most moving aspect of these artworks (Figure 25.7).
The November and December events on Mohammed Mahmoud Street and in its
surroundings led to significant looting of the headquarters of the AUC and the wounding
of several of its helpless security guards. Afterwards, the wall was built even higher and
meticulously painted and repaired for the festivities after the first anniversary of the
January 25 revolution. No sooner had January 26, 2012 dawned than the wall was once
again beautifully repainted with fantastic mocking murals (Figure 25.8).
Not a single day passed without whitewashed walls being repainted with fantastic anti-​
SCAF drawings and simple insults. When the protestors were gassed, graffiti appeared
with protestors in masks; when snipers targeted their eyes, numerous one-​eyed victims
were painted; after the massacre at the football match in Port Saʿid, the martyrs of the
Ultra Ahli football team were painted as angels resting in heaven, or being carried in a
sarcophagus in an ancient Egyptian-​style burial ceremony. Mohammed Mahmoud Street
seemed to be turning into a temple, or rather a “memorial space”, visited repeatedly to
be photographed, just before the graffiti was whitewashed again. It was also becoming a
space where people posed for photographs against its fantastic murals. On February 24,
2012, the walls of the street were whitewashed for at least the tenth time. Only the Ultras’

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.7 Mohamed Mahmud Street, freshly whitewashed, January 24, 2012.

Figure 25.8 Freshly whitewashed, fresh graffiti, January 26, 2012.

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Mona Abaza

Figure 25.9 Gas mask graffiti after the gassings, December 15, 2011.

mural of the martyrs and the Pharaoh paintings located near the entrance of the AUC
gate were left intact for a while longer (Figures 25.9, 25.10 and 25.11).

The Marches
From the very first day of the revolution, the marches were crucial in mobilizing
people to reach Tahrir. On the first anniversary of the revolution, millions poured into
Tahrir to convey the message that they were willing to challenge the junta. An amazing
number of marches, reaching 25, which came from all the corners of the city, flooded
the square. To mark the January 25, 2012 march, a map was distributed via Facebook
explaining the departure points and routes of all the marches throughout Cairo to Tahrir
Square. Al-​Ahram Online also provided a map with all of the marches, the meeting
points and the routes.
These marches remarkably increased right after the October Maspero massacre of
Coptic protestors. The marches revealed a sophisticated level of organization and great
effectiveness in attracting people by calling upon those standing in the balconies to come
down to the street. Many protestors carried striking written messages and symbols. The
march of January 25 departing from Mustafa Mahmoud Mosque in Mohandessin was
even more impressive after several other marches from other neighborhoods merged with
it. The marchers held loudspeakers, compelling slogans and large drums. A significant
number of the demonstrators had extremely impressive masks of the faces of famous
martyrs, like Khaled Saʿid (who was killed by officers in Alexandria and was a symbol

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

Figure 25.10 Graffiti memorializing the Ultras in an ancient Egyptian-​style death ceremony.

Figure 25.11 Mural at the AUC: Tahrir Square by Alaam Awad.

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Mona Abaza

Figure 25.12 Filming the march, February 2012.

Source: all photographs by author.

that triggered the January revolution), Sheikh ʿEmad (a learned Azharite religious scholar
who was killed in the events on Mohamed Mahmoud Street) and Mina Daniel (killed in
the Maspero massacre), as well as the “V for Vendetta” mask that was previously attacked
by the Muslim Brotherhood newspaper for instigating chaos and anarchy. The Muslim
Brotherhood newspaper’s campaign against the “V for Vendetta” had misspelled the “V”
as “B” and called the mask “Bendetta”. To the Muslim Brotherhood’s misfortune, the
revolutionaries did not spare them a torrent of jokes about their ignorance.
The next march on Friday February 3 was even better organized. It was a morning
march in commemoration of the 74 victims of the Ultras football team murdered at Port
Saʿid stadium while the police stood by, watching. It was guarded by a long cordon of
men from the front, and the back was protected by cars and another long cordon of men
holding hands who were doing their best to ensure that the march would not be infiltrated
by thugs who would then systematically attack the demonstrators. Slogans, placards and
blown-​up photos of the children who died in the incident led the march. Graffiti artists
accompanied it and drew on the ground and the walls. Most interestingly, a film crew on
top of a van recorded the event (Figure 25.12).

Concluding Remarks
Back then, many thought that the point of no return had been felt more than ever in the
transformation of the mindset of Egyptians, thanks to the mesmerizing power of victory

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The Transformation of Public Space in Post-Revolutionary Cairo

in the face of dictatorship. The transformation in the cultural sphere was expressed in
the blossoming and daring youth subcultures and artistic work, which Tahrir magic-
ally released. These opened up new visionary paths and dreams that the revolutionaries
thought would be difficult to suppress. The rap musicians, the zar singers experienced
during the last days of the revolution; Rami ʿEssam; the producers of “Song of the
Revolution” spread via YouTube and then appropriated by national TV channels; the
newly created numerous music bands; the sardonic slogans; the rhymes and fantastic
improvised poetry; the drawings, writings and placards that mesmerized the entire
world –​all became subcultures embedded in the memories of the revolutionaries even as
they were being erased and repainted by military orders.
A major achievement of the revolution has been that it allowed the re-​invention and
valorization of public spaces, not only through the act of protesting but also as a new
dimension for self-​expression and communication in the public sphere. However, the
revolution’s short-​lived victory remains contested. The obvious violations of human
rights demonstrate that the forces of the counter-​revolution have been formidable. Their
regime’s violence is clearly not only against the revolutionaries but also against the public
performances, the new emerging youth subcultures and any peaceful artistic expression
that smells of dissent. The public sphere, which has always been a precarious domain,
is being increasingly suppressed by a military regime that continues to have the final say
over the civil society in Egypt as it has for many decades.

Notes
1 S. Mehrez (2012).
2 Egypt Independent (2012).
3 Trew et al. (2012).
4 J. Shenker (2011).
5 S. Shukrallah (2012).
6 R. Khallaf (2011).
7 P. Kattar (2011).
8 Z. Magdy (2011).
9 Taxi Band Magnoon (2010).
10 D. Abdel (2011).
11 TEDx Cairo (2012).
12 W. Ghoneim (2012).
13 B. Youssef (2012).
14 Monatov (2011a) .
15 D. Abdel (2011).
16 N. H. Rashwan (2012).
17 Arabic Network for Human Rights Information (2012) .
18 Revolution Graffiti (2012).
19 R. Cohen (2011).
20 Ganzeer (2011) and Ganzeer (2012)./​
21 M. El Hebeishy (2011).

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Fired Birdshot at Protesters”, Al Ahram Online, February 7, http://​engl​ish.ahram.org.eg/​News/​
33950.aspx, date accessed April 15, 2012.
Tahrir 2011: The Good, the Bad and the Politician (Al Tahrir 2011: Al Tayib wa al Sharis wa
al Siyassi) (2011) directed by Tamer Ezzat, Ahmad Abdalla, Ayten Amin and Amr Salama,
produced by Frederic Sichler and Mohamed Hefzy.
Taxi Band Magnoon (2010) www.yout​ube.com/​watch?v=​Y1o6​H7cv​WWc, date accessed April
15, 2012.
TEDx Cairo (2012) TEDx Cairo homepage, www.tedxca​iro.com/​index.php, date accessed April
15, 2012.
Trew, B., Abdalla, M., and Feteha, A. (2012) “Walled In: SCAF´s Concrete Barricades”,
Ahramonline, February 9, http://​engl​ish.ahram.org.eg/​News​Cont​ent/​1/​64/​33929/​Egypt/​Polit​
ics-​/​Wal​led-​in-​SCAFs-​concr​ete-​bar​rica​des-​.aspx, date accessed April 16, 2012.
Youssef, B. (2012) A “Room” on Youtube!, www.tedxca​iro.com/​index.php? show=​Talks&id=​33,
date accessed April 15, 2012.

424
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INDEX

Note: References to figures and photographs appear in italic type; those in bold type refer to
tables; and the letter ‘n’ indicates a chapter endnote.

Abaza, Mona 381, 382 Al ‘Aimarah journal 378

‘Abbasids 87 Ainslie, Robert 194
‘Abbasseya 325 ‘Aisha (Trilogy, Mahfouz) 234, 242–​3
‘Abdalla, Ahmed 415 akhṭaṭ (districts) 108, 111
‘Abdallah (judge “Qa‘a al-​medina”) 247–​9 Albanians 109, 110
‘Abd al-​Latif al-​Baghdadi 177 Alexandria 191
‘AbdelDayem, Mariam 153 al-​Alfi Street 127, 138
‘Abdel-​Hameed, Sameh 296 ‘Alid mausolea 87
‘Abdin Palace 126 Al Jazeera English 411
‘Abdu, Muhammad 357–​8 AlSayyad, N. 150–​1, 152, 255, 390, 395
Al-​Abit Mosque 147 alternative urban development practices 395
Abla, Mohammed 412–​13, 413 Altinbugha al-​Maridani 54
Abu Ali Al-​Mansour (Al-​Amer bi-​Ahkam Amar, P. 218
Allah) 39 Al-​Amer bi-​Ahkam Allah (Abu Ali
Abu-​Lughod, Janet 218, 381 Al-​Mansour) 39
Aden, Halima 291 American University in Cairo (AUC) 144–​5,
al-​‘Adid li-​Din Allah 46 292, 295, 411, 418; Mural at the AUC:
al-​‘Adil 50 Tahrir Square (Awad) 421
al-​‘Adly, Habib 416 Amina (Trilogy, Mahfouz) 234–​9, 241–​2, 243
Adorno, Anselmo 175–​6 Amin, G. 222, 226
Adrift on the Nile (film) 260, 261 Amin, Qasim 357–​8, 361, 361–​2
AECOM 393 amirial architecture 71
‘Afarīt al-​Asphalt (film) 261–​2, 262 Amir Khayer Bek complex 71, 77
al-​Afdal Shahanshah 38–​40 Amir Qijmas al-​Ishaqi complex 71
al-​Afghani, Gamal El-​Din 357–​8 Amir Sheikhu complex 54–​5, 167
African Development Bank 404 Amir Sheikhu madrassa 168
Aga Khan 251 Ana Horra (film) 259–​60
aggressive transformations 391 al-​‘Anany, Khaled 153
agha (head of the Janissaries) 107, 108, 111, ancient Egyptian architectural ornamental
114, 117n17 motifs 130
agricultural land 318, 325, 378, 391 Anglure, Ogier d’ 175
Ahmad al-​Mihmandar 54 anti-​feminist approaches 293
al-​Ahram district 333 anti-​hijab (deveiling) 290, 294–​5, 296, 297
Ahwash (temporary structures) 354 Antinopolis 17–​18, 20

425
426

Index

anti-​SCAF drawings 418 Bab Zuwayla 56, 69

Anwar, Dena 296 Badr al-​Jamali 39, 40
Aqsunqur mosque 73 Bahri Mamluk period 71, 73
aqueduct of al-​Nasir Muhammad 183, 190 Baladna bil Masry (YouTube video) 413
aqueduct of Ibn Tulun 11, 28 al-​Balawi, Abu Muhammad 10, 11, 13, 19,
Aqwa Aflam al-​Mawsim (Monatov) 413 20–​9
Arab League 146 Balkuwara palace 18
Arab Renaissance 209 Baraka Khan 55
Arab Socialist Union (ASU) 146, 147 Al-​Barghouti, Tamim 222–​3
arbitrary housing developments 304–​5 Barquq, Sultan 96
architects 130, 139, 364–​5 Barsbay, al-​Ashraf 58
architecture: amirial 71; European influences Baudelaire, C. 238
129–​30, 136; Mamluks 45–​6, 67–​8; and Bauman, Z. 341
planning 392 Baybars al-​Jashankir 52, 54, 177, 191
Architecture Arabe ou Monuments du Kaire Bayn al-​Qasrayn district 49–​53, 54, 58
(Coste) 197 Bayn Al-​Qasrayn (Mahfouz) 232–​43
The Art of the Saracens in Egypt (Lane-​Poole) Bayn al-​Qasrayn street (Cassas) 191, 193
197 Bayt al-​Razzaz 77
Asad, Talal 288 Bayt Al-​Suhaimy 359–​60
al-​Ashraf Sha’ban, Sultan 53 belvédères 48, 56
‘Ashura’s mourning 37, 38, 42 “The Best People” (Dalida) 225
‘ashwả iat (informal settlements) 328; see also Bey, Fabricius 91
informal housing; urban informality Bible and biblical narratives 176, 219
al-​‘Askar district 87 bimaristans (hospitals) 67; Maydan al-​Rumayla
athman (districts) 111–​12, 114–​15 56; al-​Qata’i‘ 11, 13, 27, 28
AUC Press 412 bin Ladin, Osama 288–​9
automobiles 131 Bin Taghribardi 35
Avin, U. 405 Birkat al-​Azbakeya 123
Awad, Alaam 421 Birkat al-​Fil 48
Awqaf Administration 147 Birkat al-​Fil al-​Kubra 11
Awqaf City 381 Birkat al-​Fil al-​Sughra 10–​11
Awqaf City proposal (Mahboub) 375–​8, 376 Birkat al-​Hajj 56
Awqaf City proposal (Riad) 377, 378 Birkat Qarun 11
Awqaf (endowments) 52–​3, 77 Bir Umm al-​Sultan 11
Ayyubid period: al-​Qahira 48; mausolea 95 Bir Yusuf (“Joseph’s well”) 176, 187
al-​Azbakeya district 57, 111, 123, 126, 127, 375 Black Death 57
al-​Azhar park 251–​2, 252 “blue bra” graffiti 415, 416
al-​Aziz Billah 37, 41 Bonaparte see Napoleon Bonaparte
bottom-​up urban informality 319
Bab al-​Da’naj 20 Boulaq al-​Dakrour 333
Bab al-​Daramun 19–​20 Bourgoin, Jules 197
Bab al-​Futuh 40, 189, 191 Bowring, John 114
Bab al-​Gabal 19 Breydenbach, Bernhard von 174–​5
Bab al Hadid 134 British army camps 325
Bab al-​Haram 19 British Rule 143–​5
Bab al Kẖalq (Haddad) 224 British Vogue 291
Bab al-​Khassa 19 Brocardi, Pellegrino 177, 181–​2, 181
Bab al-​Maydan 19 Bruyn, Cornelius de (Corneille Le Brun)
Bab al-​Nasr 40, 68, 69, 95 182–​3, 183, 184
Bab al-​Nasr cemetery 83 building control regulations 135, 391
Bab al-​Nasr (Mayer) 199 Building Law No 119 (2008) 137, 139n16
Bab al-​Qarafa 48 built-​up areas 305, 306
Bab al-​Saj 20 Bulaq Abul ‘Ela 57, 337–​50, 338; clearance
Bab al-​Salah (Siba) 20, 21, 26, 28 and displacement 339, 344, 350; defining
Bab al-​Sawalija 19 new spaces of flow 341; development plans
“Bab Qaramaydan” 17 343; evicted lands remaining empty 344;
babs (gates) 19–​21 mixed land use 347–​8, 348; sociability and

426
427

Index

connected networks 346–​7, 347; street Columbus Circle 141, 142

network hierarchy 346–​7; uncleared ‘ishash Committee to Document the 25 January
343 Revolution 411
Bulaq Museum 143 community bonds 346
Burckhardt, J.L. 221 congregational mosques 73
Bureaucratic Modernity 261 conscription 111
constitution 276–​7
Cairo 3–​9; called ‘Misr’ 303; defining identity construction laws and building codes 135
357; emotional attraction 218; spatial and control of space 341
social imbalances 335; see also al-​Qahira cooperative housing 381
(Cairo) Coptic Cathedral, ‘Abbasseya 280, 281
“Cairo 2050” project 389, 393 Coptic churches 278
Cairo cemetery 168, 169 Coptic demonstrators 278–​9
Cairo desert 170, 332, 335 Coptic women 294
Cairo Governorate (Muḥafaẓat Miṣr) 113 “Corridor of the Pillars” 37
Cairo Jazz Club 294 cosmopolitanism 219
Cairo Municipality 145–​6 Coste, Pascal 197
Cairo Opera House 172 “Councils of Wisdom” 35
Cairo Trilogy (Mahfouz) 6–​7, 232, 246, 256–​7 coup d’état 1952 145
Cairo University 295 courtyard houses 354, 366
Cairo Urban Region (CUR) 303 criminal records 116
Cairo World Trade Center 172 culture 217–​19
The Caller (Idris) 219
canals 56; see also al-​Khalij al-​Masri canal ḍabiṭ (ḍabiṭ bey) 111
Cannon, Byron D. 361 ḍabiṭkhana 111, 112
capacity-​building 395 Ḍabṭiyya 111
capitalization 384 ḍabṭiyya al-​thumn 112
capital punishment 113 Ḍabṭiyyat Miṣr (Cairo Police) 111
Cassas, Louis Francois 190–​4 Dahshan, M. 389
cemeteries 173, 197, 324, 331; see also City of Dalida (singer) 225
the Dead Damietta 182
censuses 115, 332; 2006 Census 329; 2017 Daniel, Mina 279, 422
Census 332 Dar al-​Haram 13, 26
Central Security Forces 293, 410 Dar al-​Imara 23, 26, 28
ceremonial processions 38–​40 Dar al-​Qutubiyya 50–​1
de Certeau, Michel 233 Dar al-​Wizara al-​Kubra 52
chaotic land-​use patterns 317 al-​Darb al-​Ahmar street 68–​72, 70, 72, 75–​6,
children 115 78–​9
China 151–​2 The Days (Hussein) 247
Chinese Ming porcelain 198 “The Death of al-​Hussein” 38
Christians and Christianity 176, 264 decolonization 219
Cinematic Cairo 255–​67 Decree on building houses within big cities
Cinematic Urbanism (AlSayyad) 255 1883 363–​4
Circassian Mamluks 57, 89, 96 Defense Complex 331
Citadel 66–​9, 70, 164, 167, 171, 175–​6 Deleuze, G. 341
City of the Dead 83–​100, 84; architecture Denis, E. 325
93–​7; demolition of tombs 98, 99, 104n71; Denon, Vivant 197
Master Plan for Egypt 2050 98, 99; Ottoman Description de l’Egypte 46, 91, 177, 179–​81,
conquest 90; population 90, 92; urban 195, 195–​7, 218
enclaves 92; World Heritage Site 98–​9; Desert Cairo 170, 332, 335
see also cemeteries; necropolises (Qarafa) desert developments 324–​32, 327, 334
City of the Revolution (Madinet Nasr) 325 deveiling (anti-​hijab) 290, 294–​5, 296, 297
class and social relations 258 Devlin, R.T. 309
close-​in desert 324 dhahabiyya (golden barge) 175
Clot, Antoine (Clot Bey) 115, 134 displacing people 403–​4
collective memory 344 diwan 107, 108
collective street paintings 412 Diwan al-​‘ama’ir 53–​4

427
428

Index

Diwan al-​Wali (al-​Diwan al-​Khidiwi) 112 “familial contract” 8, 370, 384–​6

Dobrowolski, Jaroslav 12 El Fann Midan 412
documentary films 411 Faraj ibn Barquq 56
Dourgnon, Marcel 143 Farha, Leilani 305
Downtown Cairo 121 Faris al-​Shidyaq, Ahmad 206
“Downtown Upgrading” project (GOUP) Farouk I 126, 145, 305
136–​7 Fathi, Hassan 251
“The Dregs of the City” (“Qa‘a al-​medina,” Fatimid al-​Qahira 22, 36; see also al-​Qadira
Idris) 246–​9 (Cairo)
duality 353–​4 Fatimid Caliphs 35, 38–​40, 87–​8
dynamics of space (de Certeau) 233 Fatimid palaces 35, 38, 46, 49–​50
Fatimids 34–​43, 87; establishing legitimacy 35;
Eastern Desert 323–​5 mausolea 95; ownership 49–​50; processions
Eastern Necropolis (al-​Sahara’) 58, 59, 83, 84, 35, 37, 38–​42
85, 91, 96 fawwara (domical fountain) 23
Economic Forum (2014) 389 Fay, M.A. 357
effindeya 374–​5, 378, 380, 382 February 3 march 422
Egypt 2052 vision 393 feddans 307–​8
Egyptian Cairo 353 “female concealment” rules 242
Egyptian identity 153 Fernea, Elizabeth 287
Egyptian Mummy Parade 152, 153–​4 fictional literature 252–​3
Egyptian Museum 143–​4, 144 films 255–​67; Bureaucratic Modernity 261;
Egyptian Republic 145 Class and Social Relations 258; gender
“Egyptian revolution” see Revolution 2011 259–​60, 266; modernity 260, 266–​7; religion
Egyptian socialism 380 259, 264–​5
Eid al-​Fitr 40 financialization 384
‘Eid Al-​Ghadeer celebrations 42 First Cairo Revolt 108
elections 2011 279–​80 “first generation” new towns 326, 327
elites’ residences 354, 355, 356 flâneur (Baudelaire) 238
El Sa‘aida 305 flogging 114
Eltahawy, Mona 293 Florin, B. 404
‘Emad, Sheikh 422 folklore and traditions 218
E‘mar Company 400 forced evacuation/​evictions 344, 350, 403
Empain, Edouard, Baron Empain 62, 305, 325 Forsyth, A. 404
Eno, William 141 Foucault, Michel 150–​1, 340, 341
Epitre des destinées (al-​Ghitani) 249–​50 France: architectural designs 209–​10; cultural
Etat Moderne (Description de l’Egypte) 195 domination 144; Napoleonic expedition
Ettinghausen, R. 18 (1798—​1801) 17–​18, 90, 107–​8, 121–​2,
European architectural influences 129–​30, 136 195–​7, 206–​7
European books and works of art 174 Frankish army (1164) 101n24
European Cairo 353–​4, 357 Freedom and Justice Party 278, 280, 293
European culture 364 Free Officers movement 227
European privileges 212 Fu‘ad, Ni‘mat Aḥmad 222
European-​style state education 207 Fu‘ad, Zein al ‘Abdeen 226–​7
exclusive desert Cairo 335 Fullilove, Mindy Thompson 345
ex-​formal housing 308 funerary complexes 48–​52, 91
exploration tours 182 Funerary Khanqah of Faraj b. Barquq 60
extra-​judiciary powers 281 funerary monuments 95–​6
‘Ezbet El Hagganah 305 Fustat 45–​6, 48, 66, 86–​8, 218, 354–​5
Ezzat, A. 222, 226
GaddafiLeaks (Monatov) 413
Facebook 151 Gama‘at Islameya movement 289
“Facebook Revolution” 152 al-​Gamaleya Street 69
Fadaweya complex 177 Ganzeer graffiti artist 416
Fahmi (Trilogy, Mahfouz) 234, 243 Garden City development 377
Fahmy, Khaled 411 Gas mask graffiti 418, 420
Fahmy, Mostafa 145 Gaspard, G.J. 209

428
429

Index

gates (babs) 19–​21 Hamilton, Omar Robert 414

Gauvain, Richard 292 hammams (steam-​baths) 175
GCR vision 394 hands chopped off 114
gender 237, 259–​60, 266, 290 Harat al-​Roum 248
gender segregation 358, 361–​2 Harat al-​Yaniseya 69
genealogical analysis of power 340 “Harat” (traditional quarters) 8, 107, 114–​15,
General Organization for Physical Planning 258, 259, 263, 354
(GOPP) 392–​4 harem system 358–​9, 359–​60, 361; see also
General Organization for Urban Planning women
(GOUP) 136–​7 haret al-​Nasara (Christians) 355
Geniza papers 35–​6 haret al-​Sukkareyah (sugar trade) 355
Gezira Art Center 412 haret al-​Yahud (Jews) 355
al-​Ghawri, Sultan 59, 175, 183, 183 Harris, R. 310
al-​Ghazali, Zainab 288, 290 Ḥasan al-​‘Aṭṭar 205–​6
al-​Ghitani, Gamal 249–​50 Hasan, Sultan 54, 181–​2
Ghoneim, Wael 151, 413 Hasan wa Morqos (film) 264–​5
al-​Ghuri complex 166 Hasan wa Morqos wa Cohen (film) 259, 264
Gilum, Bishop of Tire 37 Hassan, A. 392
Giza plateau 177–​9 Haussmannian city planning 141
Giza pyramids 163, 164 Hawari 354–​5, 364
GIZ (Deutsche Gesellschaft für Internationale Hawass, Zahi 416
Zusammenarbeit) 395 Haỳat al-​Baladey 134
golden barge (dhahabiyya) 175 Hegab, Sayed 223
Goodspeed, R. 405 Heliopolis 277, 305, 325
governance 395 Hénard, Eugène 141
government (GOPP) 393 heritage buildings 136, 137
Grabar, O. 18 Herodotus 176, 179
graffiti 414–​20, 415, 416, 418, 419–​20; see also Higher Committee for Urban Planning in the
murals; Revolution 2011 Governorate of Cairo (HCUP) 393
Great Eastern Palace 37 highways 331–​2
Greater Cairo 324, 330, 332 Hijab Fashion magazine 291
Greater Cairo Region (GCR) 218, 389 Hijab Fashion Week 291
Great Iwan at the Citadel (Pococke) 192 Hijab Racism (Facebook) 295
Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the hijabs 7–​8, 287–​98; banning 291–​2; earlier
Citadel (Cassas) 192, 194, 196 forms 289; enforcing 296–​7; excluding
Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad at the women wearing 294–​5; as a fard 287; new
Citadel (Mayer) 194, 199 generational perceptions 291–​2; new Islamic
Great Iwan of al-​Nasir Muhammad woman 291; post-​Mubarak 293; reasons
(Joseph’s Palace) 176 to wear 289, 292; Salafism 292–​3; sexual
“Great Iwan” of the palace 37 harassment 293–​4; social classes 290; social
Grunebaum, Gustave Von 210 media 295; transition to the niqab 289;
guardhouses 112 see also women
Guattari, F. 341 Hillenbrand, R. 18
al-​Guindi, Fadwa 287 Hilton hotels 147
al-​Gurayeb cemetery 87 hippodromes 17–​18, 175, 182
historic districts 339
Ḥabib Efendi 112 The History that I carry on my back (‘Uways)
Hadarit al-​Baqar 54 247
Haddad, Fu‘ad 224–​5 Al-​Hob Foq Hadabat al-​Haram (film) 260–​1
Haddad, Yvonne 287–​8 Hoda 271, 273–​4, 278–​9, 280, 283
Hadrian, Emperor 20 Hoffman Ladd, Valerie 287
Hajjaj al-​Khudari 109 Höijer, B. 390
Ḥakawi al-​taḥrir (“Tahrir Monologues”) 414 home and street tensions 233
al-​Hakim bi-​Amr Allah 39 homicides 113
Al-​Hakim Fatimid mosque 166 Hona Al-​Qahira (film) 261
“Hall of Gold” 35–​7 housing: cultural reform to the design 361–​2;
Hamed, Ahmed 381 new towns 333; spatial organization 361

429
430

Index

housing acquisition 370–​1 ‘Ishash (temporary structures) 354

housing consumption 309 Islamic foundation 176
housing distribution 309 Islamists 265
housing informality types 309 Islamists in prison 288
housing production 309 island of Rawda and Nilometer (Norden) 187
housing rents 379 Isma‘ilia district 123–​7; see also Khedivial
housing tenures 384–​5 Cairo
humanist perspectives 405 Isma‘ili Cairo 353, 354, 357, 362
Hussein, Taha, The Days 247 Isma’il Pasha 5; City of the Dead 90; European
hybridization housing/​urban informality 309, Cairo 142, 357; Paris over the East/​Nile 124,
309, 319 354; statue in Tahrir Square 145; straight
roads 123; Tahrir Square/​Qasr al-​Nil Square
Ibn Abd al-​Zahir 35 142
Ibn al-​Ma’moun 41–​2 isolated mausolea (Qubba) 96
Ibn al-​Tuwair 35, 36–​7, 38, 40, 42 isolating walls 410, 411
Ibn al-​Zayyat 21 istabl palaces 54
Ibn Duqmaq 11, 13, 21, 22, 57 istibdāl 53
Ibn Jubayr 28, 48, 83, 89 Al-​Ittihadeya palace protests 281
Ibn Khaldun 218, 389
Ibn Sa‘id al-​Maghribi 89 al-​Jabarti, ‘Abd al-​Rahman 110, 193, 206, 207
Ibn Tulun, Ahmad 4, 10–​15, 87; Bab al-​Salah Jackson, Kenneth 288
20–​1; maydan 14, 17–​18; mosque 22–​4, 24, Jacobs, Andreas 292
26; tomb 21; see also al-​Qata’i‘; Tulunid Jacobs, Jane 345–​6
period Jaheen, Amina 223
Ibrahim Agha Mustahfizan house 73, 74, 74, James of Verona 175
77 al-​Jam‘iyya al-​Ḥaqqaniyya council 113
Ibrahim, Kareem 395 Janbalat, Sultan 192–​4
Ibrahim, Sa‘d Eddin 288 Janissaries 107; see also agha (head of the
identity politics 238 Janissaries)
Idris, Youssef 219, 246 January Revolution see Revolution 2011
illustrated manuscripts 197–​8 Jawhar al-​Saqlabi 34, 35
Imam, ‘Adel 416 Jawsaq al-​Khaqani palace (Samarrả) 18, 20,
Imam al-​Chafei street 88 30n48
‘Imārat Ya‘qoubian (film) 262–​3 Al Jazeera English 411
Imbaba 291–​2, 378 Al Jazeera (island) see Zamalek
inclusive designs 345 Jews 264
Independent Cultural Coalition 412 Johnson, Barbara 232
infitah (opening economic doors) 383 Joseph’s Palace (Great Iwan of al-​Nasir
inflation of land prices 385 Muhammad) 176
informal housing 303–​19, 391; areas 307–​8, “Joseph’s well” (Bir Yusuf) 176, 187
307; built-​up areas 306; categories 307; judges (qadis) 107, 113
illegal land subdivision 304–​5; taxonomies
304, 308–​10, 308, 309, 311–​13; urban Kafrawi, Hasseballah 328
sustainability transitions 314–​18; see also Kamal (retired military officer) 272–​5, 280–​1
urban informality Kamal (Trilogy, Mahfouz) 234, 239–​41
informal hybridization areas 308 al-​Kamil, Sultan 48, 49
“informality as currency” 314 Karakoun Fi al-​Shari‘ (film) 260–​1
informality of desires and needs 309–​10 karakuls 113, 114
Informal Settlement Development Fund Karim, Sayed 145, 325, 381
(ISDF) 307, 395 Kassab, Khaled 382
informal settlements (‘ashwả iat) 328 Katbugha, al-​‘Adil, Sultan 51
intangible culture 217 Kattar, Pierre 412
Intercontinental Hotel 167, 391 Kazeboon films 414
International Guidelines on Urban and Keizer (graffiti artist) 416
Territorial Planning 404 Kelling, E. 310
‘Ishash al-​Tourguman, Bulaq 339, 342, 343, Kempinski hotel 294
343, 345 al-​Khalij al-​Masri canal 11, 13, 56, 69

430
431
Index
al-​Khalij al-​Nasiri canal 56
Khalil, O. 403
Khaltet Fawzeya (film) 263–​4
Al-​Khalwaty mosque 169
Khamassine (sandstorms) 276
Khan al-​Zakat 53
Khanqah of Ahmad al-​Mihmandar 71,
72–​3
Kharaga walam Ya‘od (film) 261
Khawand Tughay 96
Khayer Bek complex 76–​9, 77, 78, 165
Khedive Isma‘il see Isma’il Pasha
Khedivial Cairo 5, 121–​39, 122; conserving and
NOUH project 136–​7; deterioration 134–​6;
“Downtown for All” vision 393; European
architectural influences 129–​30; façades 129;
features 127–​9; and Medieval Cairo 128;
movement network 131, 132; nationalizing
buildings 135; urban character 131–​4;
World Heritage Site 137–​9; see also Isma‘ilia
district
Khedivial Cairo Encyclopedia 121
al-​Khiyameya street 69
El-​Kholei, A 395
Khumarawiyyah ibn Ahmad ibn Tulun 15–​18,
16, 27
Kobri el Leimoon railway line 125
kosat (favoritism) 221
Lamb, David 218–​19
land management 315–​16
Lane, Edward William 218, 359
Lane-​Poole, Sophie 354
Lane-​Poole, Stanley 197, 353–​4
de Lannoy, Ghillebert 176
Lao Kont Ghani (film) 258
Laṭif Agha 110
Law No 5 (1966) 92
Law No 49 (1977) 139n13
Law No 117 (1961) 139n12
Law No 119 (2008) 137, 139n16
Law No 144 (2006) 137, 139n15
Law No 169 (1961) 139n13
Lazughli, Muhammad 109–​10
“Lazughli” (National Security Agency) 116
Lefebvre, Henri 230n87, 340
Leftwich, A. 315
legal identification 115
Lemon Tree restaurant 294
Liberation of Women (Tahrir al-​Mar’aa, Amin)
361
Liberation Roundabout see Tahrir Square
lifestyle and living standards 366
Lindblad, J. 390
“Liquid Modernity” (Bauman) 341
Local Development Plans (LADP) 395
Loutfi, Lamia 296–​7
431
Lucas, Paul 185–​6, 186
Luxor plan 393
MacLeod, Arlene 288
Madbouly, Mostafa 152, 304
“The Mad Graffiti Week” (Ganzeer) 417
Madinat al-​Awqaf (Mohandiseen) 325, 378
Madinet Nasr (City of the Revolution) 325
Madrasa al-​Salih Najm al-​Din Ayyub 68
Madrasa of Ahmad al-​Mihmandar 71, 72–​3
Madrasa of Barquq 236
Madrasa of Sargatmish 54–​5
Madrasa of Sultan Hasan 49, 57
Madrasa of Sultan Sha‘ban 56
Madrasa of Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban 55, 68,
71, 75, 76, 78
Madrasa of al-​Zahir Baybars 191
madrasas 49–​50
Magnoon (Taxi Band) 413
Mahboub, Sabry 325, 364, 375
Mahfouz, Naguib 6–​7, 232–​3, 246, 249, 256–​7,
260
Mahmoud (retired engineer) 275–​8, 280, 281,
282–​3
Mahmoud, Saba 288
De Maillet, Benoît 179, 184–​7, 185
“Majlis” 35
Majlis al-​Aḥkam 113
Majlis Miṣr 113
Majlis Tandhim al Mahrousa 123, 134
Mamlouk Desert (al-​Sahara’) 58, 83; see also
Eastern Necropolis (al-​Sahara’)
Mamluk Cairo 4, 45–​62, 47, 103n50; al-​Qahira
48; amirial architecture 71; architecture
45–​6, 66–​79; ceremonial places 56; defining
46; east-​west avenues 54; fascination with
175; female patrons 55; first transformations
46–​9; funerary complexes 48–​9; golden age
53–​4; image of Cairene architecture
197–​200, 200; and the Nile 56–​7; political
class and civilian elites 60–​2; reshaping the
city 49–​53
Mamluks: commitment to Islam 67; legacy 60;
massacre of warlords 109; processions and
public rituals 67–​8, 70, 77
al-​Ma’moun ibn al-​Bata’ihi 38–​40, 41
ma’mour al-​ḍabṭiyya (chief police officer of
police station) 112
Ma’mour Ḍabṭiyyat al-​Maḥrusa (Police
Commissioner) 111
al-​Ma’mun 25
Mansheya Prison 17
Mansheyet Nasser 305
al-​Mansur Qalawun 50
Map of Cairo (Piri Reis) 178
al-​Maqrizi: Bahri Mamluk madrasas
and mosques 71; Fatimid feasts 39, 41;
432

Index

Ibn Tulun’s bimaristan 11; Ibn Tulun’s mercury 15

palace 13; Khumarawiyyah’s maydan 18; Metzger, J. 390
Khumarawiyyah’s palace 15; plagues 57; “Microphone” (‘Abdalla) 415
al-​Qahira as a city 42–​3; al-​Qahira as dwelling mid-​20th-​century houses 365
for Caliphs 34–​5; Qarafa 87; Qaraqush at Midan al-​Rumayla 54
Giza 177; “Sitt al-​Mulk Hall” 37 middle classes 370–​1, 374–​9, 382–​3, 391
marches 420–​2 Middle Ring Road 331
al-​Maridani mosque 73 military camps 331
Mariette, Auguste 143 minaret of al-​Qal‘i, Damascus 198, 200, 200
market-​oriented developments 328–​9 minarets 165
markets (“suqs”) 25 minbar of Qaytbay 60
marriage 374 Minister of Urban Renewal and Informal
Marx, C. 310 Settlements (MURIS) 400
Masakin al Zilzal 404 Ministry of Defense 331
masatib (built-​in benches) 123 “Misery Feminism” (Shafīk) 259
al-​Masbahi 35, 37, 41 Miṣr 218
mashrabeyyas 238, 239, 239 Miṣr al Qādymẗ (Old Egypt) see Fustat
“Mask of Freedom” (Ganzeer) 416, 417 Mitchell, Timothy 343, 384
Maslahet al-​Tandhim 134 mixed activities 348–​9, 392
Maspero 278–​9, 398 al Mo‘ayad Shiekh 220–​1
Maspero Company 400 mobility and networking 337
Maspero massacre 420 Modern Cairo 5, 171–​2, 362–​6
Maspero Triangle 9, 394, 395–​404, 396; before modernity: films 260, 266–​7; foreign inspiration
demolition 398; expropriation 400–​1; 353; Tahrir Square 152; wounded spaces
forced evictions 403; informality 404; land 340–​2
ownership 399; location 397–​8, 397; master modernizing Cairo 121–​5, 391
plan 400, 401, 401; relocation housing modern women 362–​4
401–​3, 402, 403, 404; residents’ attitudes Mohammed Mahmoud Street 279, 410, 417–​20
400, 404 al-​Mohandiseen 371–​4, 371, 379, 381–​5, 383
Master Plan for Egypt 2050 98, 99 Monatov (YouTube video maker) 413
El Matarya 305 Morsi, Mohamed 280, 281–​2, 290
mausolea 58, 96 mortgage system 384–​5
Mausoleum of al-​Salih Najm al-​Din Ayyub 68 al-​Mosbahi 37, 40
Mausoleum of Imam al-​Shafi‘i 48, 89 Moses and Joseph 176
Mausoleum of Sultan al-​Ashraf Qaytbay 61 Mosireen (“film activism”) 412
Mausoleum of Sultan Barquq 96 “mosque movement” 288
“Mawalids” celebrations 38 Mosque of al-​Hussein 242
Mawlāna (film) 264–​6 Mosque of al-​Salih Tala’i‘ 69
mayadin (hippodromes/​open parade grounds) Mosque of Altunbugha al-​Maridani 71, 74–​5, 75
13–​21, 14, 26–​8, 67 Mosque of Aqsunqur (Blue Mosque) 71, 73–​4,
Maydan al-​Rumayla 13, 56 73, 74, 77
al-​Maydan al-​Sultani 13 Mosque of Aytamish al-​Bagasi 71
Maydan Birkat al-​Fil 56 Mosque of Ibn Tulun 23–​4, 24, 26
maydan of Ibn Tulun 26 Mosque of Qijmas al-​Ishaqi 75–​6
Mayer, Luigi 194–​5 Mosque of Sultan Hasan 177
Maẓhar Pasha, Muḥammad 207–​8 Mosque of Sultan Hasan (Cassas) 194
Mazhar, Shehab 152 Mosque of Sultan Qaytbay 175
Media City 381 Mount of Yashkur (Qal‘at al-​Kabsh) 48, 58
Medieval Cairo 4, 164–​7, 355; built by a al-​Mu’ayyad Shaykh, Sultan 55–​6
confectioner 220; harawi 366; poverty and Mubarak, ‘Ali Pasha 134, 205, 211–​12, 362
overcrowding 357; socio-​cultural evolution Mubarak, Hosni 151, 389
353; women and harems 366 Mugama’ administrative building 145
mega projects 394–​5, 405; see also Maspero “Mugama’ Graffiti” 414–​15, 415
Triangle Muḥafaẓat Miṣr (Cairo Governorate) 113
Mehrez, Samia 410 muhajabat (veiled) 294–​5
Memphis 4 Muhammad ‘Ali Pasha 5; asserting authority
Merāty Modīr ‘Ām (film) 260 109; background and education 207;

432
433
Index
conscription army 111; construction projects
221, 357; councils (majalis) 113, 123;
daughter’s wedding procession 212; laws
and regulations 113, 134; mausoleum 90–​1,
103n57; policing 109–​13; vision for modern
Egypt 123, 365–​6; wali (governor) of Egypt
207
Muhammad Ibn Sulayman al-​Katib 10, 27–​8
muḥtasib (market inspector) 107, 109, 111
al-​Mu’izz Aybak, Sultan 49
al-​Mu‘izz li-​Din Allah 34, 40–​1
al-​Mu‘izz street see al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam
multistorey houses 354, 362–​3
Munif, ‘Abd al-​Rahman 233
Mu’nissa Khatun 50
Muqattam Hills 46, 84, 86, 169, 170, 181
murals 416, 421; see also graffiti
al-​Musabahi 39
al-​Musawar magazine 145
Museum of Antiquities 170, 171
Muslim Brotherhood (MB) 274, 274–​8, 280,
289, 389, 394, 422
al-​Mustaʽli Billah 39
al-​Mustansir Billah 38–​9, 41, 42, 101n23,
102n34
al-​Muzaffar Qutuz 49
Nabarawi, Saiza 289
Al-​Nahaseen 355
Napoleon Bonaparte 5, 17–​18, 107–​8, 218
Nargues (retired banker) 272–​3, 275, 278,
280–​2
narrow alleyways and streets 123, 212
al-​Nasir Faraj 57, 58
Nasiri Khusraw 41, 42, 355
al-​Nasiriyya 53
al-​Nasir Muhammad Ibn Qalawun 46, 53–​4,
57, 71, 89, 175; aqueduct 180–​2, 181; Citadel
palace 188; funerary madrasa 51; minarets
51, 52
al-​Nasir Salah al-​Din Yusuf ibn Ayyub see
Salah al-​Din (Saladin)
Nasir, Sultan 212
Nasr City 305
el-​Nasser, Gamal Abd 146–​7, 226, 289, 305,
380, 391, 395
Nasser Housing (Social Popular Housing) 391
National Council for Women 297
National Democratic Party (NDP) 146
National Museum of Egyptian Civilization 153
National Organization for Urban Harmony
(NOUH) 98–​9, 121, 122, 137, 139
national program of new towns 325–​6
national projects 390
National Security Agency (Qiṭa‘ al-​Amn
al-​Waṭani) 116
Nawwara (film) 266, 267
433
necropolises (Qarafa) 4–​5, 83, 93; see also City
of the Dead
Negm, Ahmad Fu‘ad 223–​4
neighborhood shaykhs 108
New Administrative Capital (NAC) 154, 329,
389, 394
New Republic 391
new towns 325–​30, 327, 330, 332–​4
New Urban Communities Authority (NUCA)
8, 326, 328–​9
new urbanity 209–​12
New Woman Foundation 297
new women 291, 361; see also women
news presenters 291
Niebuhr, M. 181
Nieuwhof, C. 390
Nile 40–​2, 56–​7, 61, 125, 126
Nile Corniche 125
Nile Hilton 147
Nilometer 41, 175–​6, 185, 188, 194
Nilometer (De Maillet) 185
Nilometer (Meyer) 198
Nilometer (Norden) 187, 188
Nilotic landscapes 176
niqabs 7, 287, 289, 295–​6
Norden, Frederik 179; causeway of Qaraqush
at Giza 180; island of Rawda and Nilometer
187; Nilometer 188; Opening of the Canal
187; pyramids with the causeway of
Qaraqush 189
Noticing thing-​Collecting things-​Thinking
about things (N-​C-​T) 219
November 2012 281
Occupy Wall Street Movement 151
“off-​plan” developments 328
offshoot highways 331
Ogier d’Anglure 175
Old Cairo 366
‘Omar Makram Mosque 147–​8
“Open Door Policy” (Sadat) 325
Opening of the Canal 41, 175, 176, 187
Opera House in Opera Square 391
“organic” urban expansion 323
organized/​formal sectors 305–​7
Orientalism 174
“otherness” in literature 246
Ottoman Empire 4–​5, 62, 79, 90, 106–​7
outward spatial designs 365
Owais, S. 219–​20
Pagano, Matteo 177–​81, 179
Palinkas, J. 390
Palmyra 21
pan-​Arabism 146
Panopticon 151
Panorama of Cairo (Bruyn) 184
434

Index

panoramic views (vedute) 177 al-​Qahira (Cairo) 3, 22, 34, 42, 45–​6, 48, 66, 87
Paris 142, 205, 209 āl Qāhrẗ 218
Paris over the Nile project 354 Qa’it al-​Khiyam 50
Parker, Barry 141 Qal’at al-​Jabal 46–​7
“passports” (tadhakir murour) 115 Qal‘at al-​Kabsh (Mount of Yashkur) 48, 58
patriarch culture 357 Qal‘at al-​Rawda 47, 48
pedestrians’ paths 132–​3, 133 Qalawun complex 50–​1, 191, 235
“People –​The Red Line” exhibition 412 Qalawun, sultan 50
peri-​urban areas 318–​19, 333 al-​Qalb loh Ahkām (film) 258, 258, 259
Personal Status Law 290 al-​Qal‘i mosque, Damascus 198, 200, 200
personhood and identity 114 al-​Qalqashandi 35, 38, 57, 89
Pharus Map of Cairo 358 Qanoun al-​Siyasatnamah decree 112
photography 412 Qansuh al-​Ghuri 59, 175, 183, 183
Piketty, Thomas 385 al-​Qarafa al-​Sughra 48
Piri Reis 177; Map of Cairo 178 Qarafa (Necropolis) 4–​5, 58, 83–​92
plagues 57, 108 Qaramaydan 17
planning processes 392–​4 Qaraqush, Baha’ al-​Din 177
“the plan of the army” 273–​4 Qaraqush causeway, Giza 177–​9, 179, 180, 187
Pococke, Richard 187–​90; aqueduct intake of al-​Qasaba (al-​Mu’izz street) 48, 49
al-​Nasir Muhammad 190; Bab al-​Futuh 189; Qasr al-​Nil barracks 143, 144
Great Iwan at the Citadel 192; Salah al-​Din’s Qasr al-​Nil Square 142–​3; see also Tahrir
well 191 Square
poetry 222–​6 al-​Qata’i´ 4, 10–​28, 12, 13, 46, 87; aqueduct 11;
policing 5, 106–​16 bimaristan 11, 13, 27, 28; destruction 27–​8;
political dissent 416; see also Revolution 2011 Khumarawiyyah’s royal complex 15–​17, 16;
popular sayings 219–​20 mayadin 13, 14, 18; Qubbat al-​Hawa’ 25, 26;
population 303, 332–​3 Shari‘ al-​A‘zam street 22; Tulunid capital 46;
portable running water 125 zoo 15–​16; see also ibn Tulun, Ahmad
postcolonial urbanism 340 Qaytbay, al-​Ashraf, Sultan 58–​9, 191
Princess Nazli’s Palace 142 Qaytbay mosque-​mausoleum 96
Prisse d’Avennes, A.E. 93, 197 Qaytbey monument 99
privacy and gender barriers 362, 363 Qijmas al-​Ishaqi complex 77
private desert projects 331 Qiṭa‘ al-​Amn al-​Waṭani (National Security
procedural planning theories 405 Agency) 116
Procession of the Pasha into Cairo (Cassas) 196 quarrels and reconciliation 112
processions 40–​2, 67, 78–​9 Qubbat al-​Hawa’ 13, 25, 26, 27, 28
propaganda in songs 226 Quran 219
proverbs 219–​22
Ptolemy 176 Rabat, Nasser 353
“public benefits” (al-​manafi‘al-​‘umūmeya) 210–​11 Raby, Julian 175
public culture 410 Radzivil, P.N. 182, 183
public estates 91–​2 railways 131
public executions 114 Ramadan 295–​6
public health 115 Ramses Hilton 171
public memory 350 Rawda 187
public security 113–​14 Raymond, André 46, 106
public sewage 125 “reel” spaces (AlSayyad) 255
public spaces 290–​1, 410, 413–​14, 423 Reeve, C. 393
public transport 209, 334 Referendum 19 March 276–​7, 277
Public Works Ministry (Wezaret al-​Ashghal “regenerative development.” 390
al-​‘Umoumeya) 134 Regional Ring Road 331
Pyramids Gardens 328 religion 259, 264–​5
pyramids with Qaraqush causeway (Norden) relocating unsafe areas’ residents 404
189 rent controls 135, 139n13, 380, 381
“Restoration of Khedivial Cairo’s Civil Image”
qadis (judges) 107, 113 project (NOUH) 137, 139
Al-​Qahira 30 (film) 257, 257 Reuwich, Erhard 175

434
435

Index

revival of Khedivial Cairo competition 393 Semiramis Hotel, Garden City 391
Revolution 2011 5, 141, 149–​50, 151, 154, sexual harassment 293–​4
270–​83, 394; see also graffiti; Tahrir Square Shaarawi, Huda 361
“Revolution Graffiti” (Facebook) 414 Shabayek, Sundus 414
Riad, Mahmoud 146–​7, 377, 378, 381 Shafik, Ahmed 280
Ribat (army barracks) 101n19 Shafīk, Viola 259
Rico (folklore singer) 225–​6 al-​Shaf’i, Sharif 233
The Right to the City (Lefebvre) 230n87 Shajar al-​Durr 49, 102n34
“root shock” (Fullilove) 345 Sha‘rawi, Huda 289
Rosetta gate, Alexandria 191 shari‘a courts 107
Rossi, Mario 147 al-​Shari‘ al-​’A‘zam 22, 26, 49, 67–​8, 69
“roundabout revolution” (AlSayyad and Sharia‘ Maglis al-​Wozara 279
Weizman) 150 Shari‘ ‘uyun al-​hurriyyah see Mohammed
roundabouts (rondpoints) 141–​2, 143, 145–​54; Mahmoud Street
see also Tahrir Square al-​Shater, Khadija Khairat 296
Rousseau, Leon 126 El-​Shater, Khairat 280
Shawar al-​Saʽadi 42
Saad Aly, N. M. E. 297 Shawki, Tarek 297
Saba’ Banat 94, 95–​6 Shaykh al-​Azhar 291
Sabboursaid, Hussein 385 shaykh al-​hara 107, 112
Sadat, Anwar 325–​6 shaykh al-​thumn 111–​12
Sad Panda graffiti 416 shaykhs 108
safety and urban design 345–​7 El-​Shebrawy, Heba 292
al-​Sahara’ (the Mamlouk Desert) see Eastern Al-​Sheikh Hasan (film) 258–​9, 265–​6
Necropolis (al-​Sahara’) Sheikh Rihan Street 410
“sahib almajlis” (master of the audience hall) Shenouda, Pope 280
37 Sheraton Hotel 172
sahwa (regional Islamic revival) 287, 288–​9 El-​Sherbiny, Radwa 296
Said, Edward 246 Sherket Edaret al-​Usoul al-​‘Aqareya 135
Sa‘id, Khaled 420–​2 al-​Shidyaq, Aḥmad Faris 208, 210
Sa‘id Pasha, Mohamed 123, 142–​3 Shielke, Samuli 288
Sa‘id, Salma 412 Shiha, Hala 296
Salafism 289, 292–​3, 294 Shukry, Karim 225
Salah al-​Din (Saladin) 42, 46, 48, 49, 66 Sidi ‘Uqba mosque 88–​9
Salah al-​Din’s well 176 Simeonis, Simon 175
Salah al-​Din’s well (Lucas) 186 sineyya, Tahrir Square 409
Salah Salem corridor 325 Singerman, A. 218
al-​Saliba al-​Kubra (The Great Crossing) 54, Sioufi, Pierre 415
55, 67 al-​Siqqli (leader of Fatimid army) 220
al-​Salih Ayyub 89, 102n34 el-​Sisi, Abd el-​Fattah 152, 295, 304, 337, 389,
al-​Salih Najm al-​Din 47–​8 391–​2, 394
al-​Salih, Sultan 49 “Sitt al-​Mulk Hall” 37
Samarrả 10, 18, 24 Six of October bridge 171
Sameh, Dr 371–​4, 385 678 (film) 264, 265
Sandys, Georges 90 Sixth of October new town 326, 330
Sargatmish, Amir 54–​5 siyasa (state-​enacted laws) 107
Sawwā’ al-​’Utubīs (film) 261–​2 skilled professionals 381
al-​Sayyid Ahmad ‘Abd al-​Gawwad (SAAG, smallpox 115
Trilogy) 233–​4, 242 social duality 258
Sayyida Nafisa cemetery 87 social housing 329, 391
Schlumberger, Gustave 37 Social Housing Fund 329
schools 296–​7 social interactions 348–​9
secularists 265–​6 social media 151–​2, 154, 295
Selim, G. 391, 395 social mobility 135
Selim, Sultan 107 Social Popular Housing (Nasser Housing) 391
semi-​informal housing 308, 309, 309 societal transformations 221–​2
semiotics 219 society in motion 353

435
436

Index

socio-​spatial, sociotechnical and power expression 148–​9; Revolution 2011 148–​51,

transitions (SSSPT) 317–​18 271, 274; roundabout 142, 152; sineyya
socio-​spatial transitions 317, 354 409; surveilled public space 152; symbols of
Soliman, A. 309 subsequent regimes 154; “Unknown Soldier”
Sommer, Jan 90 monument 145–​6; see also Revolution 2011
songs 222–​7 Tahrir Square mood 272
Souliman, Omar 273 Tahrir Square mural (Awad) 421
Souq al ‘Asr Street 348 al-​Ṭahṭawi, Rifa‘a 205, 208–​11, 357–​8
Southern Necropolis 83, 84, 86, 91–​2 takhliq almiqyas celebration 41
spatial encounters 341–​2 “Tal‘aat Harb Mural” (Kattar) 412
spatial memory 8, 339–​40, 349 al Talbani, Abdel Latif 226
spatial organization of houses 361 tamaddun (urbanity) 6, 205, 208–​9, 210–​11,
spring 276 212–​13
squatted informal areas 305, 308, 309, 309, 398 tangible culture 217
steam-​baths (hammams) 175 Tantawi, Mohammed Sayyed 291
Stewart, D.J. 390 Tanzim Alignment laws 364
stone benches 212 Tarajim al-​Akhbar (al-​Jabarti) 207
stone parallelepiped burials 93 Tashtumur al-​Saqi, Amir 54
The Story of Cairo (Lane-​Poole) 353–​4 Tawadros, Pope 281
strategic planning 393 Tawfiqiya district 124, 125, 127, 137
strategies (de Certeau) 233 Tawfiq Pasha 91
street names 133–​4 Taxi Band 413
“the street of the eyes of freedom” 279, 417, taxonomies of urban informality 308–​9, 310,
418; see also Mohammed Mahmoud Street 311–​13, 319
street spaces 346, 348 TEDx Cairo Talks 413
“striated” spaces 341 Tenth of Ramadan new town 326
Sultan Hassan complex 164, 165, 167, 168 Tharthara Fawq al-​Nīl (film) 260, 261
Sultan Qalawoun complex 52, 166, 170 Al Thawra … Khabar (documentary) 411
Supreme Council for Planning and Urban Al Thawra (documentary) 411
Development 400 theories on governmentality (Foucault)
Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) 150–​1
274, 276, 410 “the walls have ears” saying 220
Suq al-​Silah Street 69 thumn see athman (districts)
“suqs” (markets) 25 Tiananmen Square protests 151–​2
Surviving Hijab Facebook group 295 al-​Tibbana 54, 55
sustainability transitions 315 tiles 200, 200
syzygies 288 Tomb of Al-​Hagin family 98
Tomb of Dawlatlu Mustapha Ryad Pacha 96
tactics (de Certeau) 233 Tomb of Sidi Harun 22–​3, 26
Al Tahrir 2011 (film) 411 Tomb of Sitty Kalthum ismail Hanim 97
Tahrir al-​Mar’aa (Liberation of Women, Amin) Tomb of Umar Makram 103n64
361 “Tophane” 177
Tahrir cinema 413 Torres Balbás, Leopoldo 210
“Tahrir comrades” 278 al Tourguman 342, 344, 345, 349
“Tahrir Monologues” (Ḥakawi al-​taḥrir) 414 trade corporations (ṭawa’if al-​ḥiraf) 107
Tahrir Museum 153 traditional quarters see “Harat” (traditional
“Tahrir Republic” 149–​50 quarters)
Tahrir Square 5, 141–​55, 171; 1960s 148; 2020 “traffic circles” see roundabouts (rondpoints)
153; architectural proposals 145–​6; British trams 126, 131–​2, 143
rule 143–​5; “facelift” 2020 271; future 154–​5; transformations 390–​2
ground figure maps 155; Isma’il Pasha 142, transport 131–​2, 333–​4
270–​1; marches 420–​2; media coverage transport corridors 331–​2
151–​2; modernism 152; Mugama’ “Treasury of the Royal Wardrobe” 40
administrative building 145; as a museum Trilogy (Mahfouz) 6–​7, 232, 246, 256–​7
152–​4; new visual culture 410; pedestrian triumphal arches 20–​1
bridge 149; photography 411–​12; plan Truffer, B. 317
by Cairo Municipality 145–​6; political al-​ṭṭawi, R. 206, 209

436
437

Index

Tulunid period 13, 20, 21, 25, 87; see also Ibn “V for Vendetta” mask 422
Tulun, Ahmad virtual public spaces 151
Turan Shah 102n34 Vogue Arabia 291
Turbat al-​Za´faran 40, 87 Voice of America 151
Turner, Elizabeth Monk 288 Voyage au Levant (Bruyn) 183, 184
“Twelve Turns” street 210
2030 Vision 395 Wahba, D. 403
Twitter 151 wali (governor) 107, 111
“Ṭz” (salt) 221 walls as buffer zones 410, 411
waqf (endowments) 52–​3, 77
Al ‘Ubour (new town) 326 al-​Warda al-​Baydả (film) 256
Ultras football team 421, 422 Al-​Watan newspaper 154
Umayyad palaces 19 WATG 400
Umm al-​Sultan Sha‘ban 68, 165 “We Are All Khaled Sa‘id” Facebook
al-​‘Umraneya district 333 page 151
United Arab Republic 226 Weizman, E. 150–​1
unjustified modernization projects 349 Western Desert 323–​4
“Unknown Soldier” monument 145–​6 Western imperialism 144
unorganized sectors see informal housing; Wezaret al-​Ashghal al-​‘Umoumeya (Public
urban informality Works Ministry) 134
unplanned areas 307 Wharton, A.J. 147
unsafe areas 307 Whittmore, A.H. 405
Unwin, Raymond 141 Wikalat al-​Balah 347, 349
urban and planning theories 404–​5 “Wolves” (painting, Abla) 412, 413
urban crises 91–​2 women 7–​8; demonstrations against SCAF
urban development 90–​1, 125, 129, 340 416; feminism 291; films 259–​60, 266; higher
urban development movement 392 education 290; liberation of 360–​1; news
urban expansion 170, 305, 306, 323, 325–​6 presenters 291; Old Cairo 357–​61; opinions
urban fabric 305–​7 on gender issues 290; property ownership
urban heritage conservation 136 359; public perception 358–​9; public spaces
urban informality 303–​5, 305, 318–​19; 290–​1; unveiled 294; wearing hijabs 292–​3;
geography of transitions 317; hybridization see also harem system; hijabs; new women
310–​14, 319; peri-​urban areas 318–​19; women’s movement 289
“socioeconomic struggle” 319; sustainability wounded spaces 339–​42
transitions 314–​15, 316–​18; taxonomies
308–​10, 311–​13, 319; technocratic Yacout (film) 256
approaches 310, 319; transformative process Yalbugha al-​Yahawi 54
314; see also informal housing Yashbak min Mahdi 177
urban master plans 325 Yasin (Trilogy, Mahfouz) 234, 241
Urban Nexus approaches 395 Youm Lel Settāt (film) 266
urban planning 210 Young Artists Coalition 412
urban poor 266 Youssef, Bassem 413
urban regeneration, renewal and revitalization YouTube videos 413
404
urban sustainability transitions 314–​16 al-​Zahir 41
urban transformations 391 al-​Zahir Baybars 49, 69
Urban Upgrading Unit (UUU) 400 al-​Zahir mosque (Dahir) 50
‘Uways, Sayyid 247 al-​Zainy, Iman 292
Zaki, Radwa 218
vaccination campaigns 115 Zamalek 127, 172, 223–​4, 391
Valle, Pietro della 176, 182 Zenhom project 392–​3
Van Berchem, M. 181 ziyy Islami 289–​90
Vazirs (head judges) 38 zoning 392, 409–​11
vehicular roads 133 zoos 15–​16, 16
Venetian Orientalist paintings 175 Zuqaq al-​Midaq (film) 257–​8

437