El-Halwagi is a woman of style -- you would have to be, to make talking to trees seem like a relatively normal activity. She is convinced, furthermore, that the trees understand every word. The cause to which she has devoted her life is the environment. An active member of the Tree Lovers' Association, she has battled to save the trees which line Road 9 in Maadi -- delux regia, ficus infectoria and jacaranda mimosifolia are not obscure Latin names, but the epithets by which she designates dear friends.

Residents of Maadi know she is often to be found at the police station, where she spends hours reporting offences and ensuring that the culprits are punished. "People come in having been stabbed, robbed or beaten," she says with no trace of remorse, "and here I am reporting damage to a tree. They probably think I'm crazy, but eventually the message gets through. Trees are our lungs. Without them, we cannot breathe."

In the '80s, El-Halwagi fought to save a vast olive tree plantation that was subsequently cut down to provide land on which apartment blocks for army officers were built. "We lost the case, but we never gave up" -- she speaks in the categorical tones of the true believer.

Canal Street was once a real canal, running through the once-tranquil suburb in which El-Halwagi lives. Used for years as a garbage dump, it was eventually filled and parts of it were paved over. Municipality officials contemplated transforming the rest of the former canal into a main street, or constructing small cabins. Again, El-Halwagi played a pivotal role in the fight for the expansion of Maadi's green areas. "We took the authorities to court, and won the case in 1980," she says triumphantly.

The Tree Lovers' Association took charge of planting and caring for the trees they planted in the bed of the old canal. The members brought water from their houses in buckets. At the time, El-Halwagi was pregnant and lived on the ninth floor of an apartment building. Undeterred by the trek up and down the stairs, she carried buckets with the rest. "In the beginning, people used to laugh at us. They called us crazy tree women. After a while, their attitudes changed and they began to cooperate," says Moyine, the founder of the Association, who, at 93, is still as active as ever.

"I always believe that, as long as we are devoted to what we do, then one day people will respect our principles and our honesty," adds El-Halwagi. "People's attitudes changed so much that they started to come and tell us when the trees needed water."

From the large balcony of El-Halwagi's apartment, the street looks like a sea of jacaranda trees. Birds shriek among the clusters of purple blooms. "Look at this giant ficus religiosa," El-Halwagi says; "it's a bird hotel. At different times of the year, different birds come and go. There are larks, crows, white owls, finches, blackbirds, kites..."

Appropriately enough, El-Halwagi works as a landscape architect. Not for her, however, the symmetry and stylised lines of a formal French garden: "It is interesting what an artistic designer nature itself can be. I learned from Safiya that nature has both a will and a way of its own. This is why I tend to favour the English school of landscaping." El-Halwagi, however, has Egypt's specific requirements in mind. "What we need here is a desert-scape. We need plants for coastal villages and new developments, where water is very costly and scarce. This type of landscaping matches dry conditions and a climate where wind, salt and humidity are all factors that must be taken into account. A landscape must be envisaged with the next twenty years in mind. I have to think of competition between various trees, the ageing and character of the tree, spacing and the personality of the landscape," she explains.

El-Halwagi also gives a large portion of her time to the Awladi orphanage. Here, too, trees are an integral element of what she does. "I could see the physical and emotional benefits less fortunate children derived from increased environmental awareness," she notes. "We started with simple explanations, helping the children plant, water, weed and just be part of nature. Soon they became less aggressive, more adjusted to their surroundings, and more positive about themselves and others. They used to tear off branches and use them as sticks; now the trees are left to thrive, providing beauty and shade in the playground."

El-Halwagi herself discovered her passion for nature as a child. Born in 1950 in Saray Al-Qubba, one of Cairo's most peaceful neighbourhoods at the time, she used to spend long evenings with her father and brothers on the roof of the family's small house, looking up at the sky. "My father used to explain the secrets of the sky, telling us about the stars and constellations. I may have learned more from him than I did at school." Her father, a geologist by profession, was also fascinated by bees, and El-Halwagi learned to deal with them as a young girl. The children were also responsible for watering and caring for the small garden.

Her childhood was marked by the smell of the citrus trees that wafted over the walls of the Qubba Palace, Friday outings to the cinema ("Disney films were my favourite") and long excursions. "Once we went to Dahshour, where we learned about geological eras and sedimentation. We collected fossils and petrified wood. Another time we went to Alexandria, and along the agricultural road, my father told us about different crops and trees."

El-Halwagi's bond with her father was established, then, through this quiet learning process, and a passion for nature, expressed in the gut sympathy both felt for plants or animals. "My mother once bought a lamb for the feast. We children treated him like a friend, then, on the morning of the feast, they slaughtered him in front of me. That day I became a vegetarian. I still am. My father couldn't stand the sight of blood. He locked himself in his room. He, too, became a vegetarian that day."

The event changed El-Halwagi's future. As a child, she had wanted to be a doctor, but was immediately convinced that this would not be an option. "I knew that if I saw blood again, I would faint." Although her marks would have allowed her to enter the Faculty of Medicine, she chose to study agriculture instead.

Her reactions to acts she perceives as "ugly and corrupt" remain visceral. Her husband has learned to accept and admire her often extreme behaviour. When the olive tree plantation was razed, she would wake up in the middle of the night, sobbing. El-Halwagi blames herself for every tree cut down. "Living with Asma has not always been a bed of roses," Ahmed El-Guindi, her husband, admits. "Whenever we hear that a tree has been felled, she cries. I'm not talking about someone with poetic or romantic sensitivities. I'm talking about 25 years of day-to-day life."

El-Halwagi, however, does not just stand by in despair. She has jumped at opportunities to learn more and share her knowledge with others. She was invited to represent the Tree Lovers' Association at a workshop held in Morocco under the auspices of the International Union for the Conservation of Nature, an affiliate of the United Nations. The result was a quarterly magazine, Women and Biodiversity in North Africa, which reports on various conservation concerns.

"Women in many countries are very aware of the degradation of the environment," notes El-Halwagi. "Their role in conserving natural resources and maintaining biodiversity is invaluable."

Photo: Randa Shaath