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Al-Ahram Weekly 18 - 24 March 1999 Issue No. 421 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 18 - 24 March 1999 Issue No. 421
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Features Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters A community that goes back a thousand years is now struggling for survival. Fatemah Farag tries to sort out heritage, urban development, environment, art and money 
Hands of clay
Al-Fawakhir is not much to look at. An area that starts behind the Hanging Church and goes beyond Salah Salem Street, it is comprised of small workshops, known as dulab. The latter are spread out in little groups, woven in with lime pits and car repair shops. You could easily make the mistake of classifying Al-Fawakhir -- popularly known as Al-Qulaliya -- as just one more of Cairo's many shanty areas. But wait. A closer look through the dark entrance of a dulab shows an old man bent over a potters wheel. Intently he works on a piece of red clay and, almost magically, it takes form under his thick fingers. He does not look up as we walk in, and scattered about the dark room we see plant holders of all shapes and sizes, the intricate designs crawling up their sides illuminated by streams of dusty sunlight.
"I have worked here since 1964," says Youssri Ibrahim. "But my family goes way back. We come from the Amr [Ibn Al-Aas] Mosque area, about two kilometres away -- our history is that of hundreds of years."
He is not exaggerating. It is believed that the history of Cairo's potters in Fustat goes back to the Fatimids. In fact, bits and pieces of redware pottery found at this site, which can be viewed at both the Coptic and Islamic museums, indicate not only that an estimate of about 1,000 years is accurate, but that Fustat was the central potters' quarter.
Hence the particularly sharp resentment toward plans to remove this area. "The government says it wants to move us because our kilns create pollution, because our workshops do not look nice in this tourist area. But we tell everyone that we are an integral part of the history of this area and that, if we are moved, it will kill the heritage of the Cairo potters," explained Abu Birgo, a local artisan.
Only a few days ago, City Council officials were marching up and down the dusty streets counting those to be removed. For now, only a triangular building complex has been ear-marked for demolition. Although residents have been served notices which indicated that the demolition would take place on 10 March, to date the bulldozers have not shown up. The demolition will include three studios owned by graduates of the Fine Arts School. From his new location, Nathan Doss, a young sculptor, bends over a red clay frieze. "I have had the studio for four years and there are about 15 artists like me who have permanent places in the area. The interaction between ourselves and the artisans is invaluable. If they are moved to the areas being suggested, like Qattamiya, it would be very difficult to keep this interaction up -- it would be a great loss."
The prospect of a move brings several factors into play: historical rights; business which the potters claim will be irreparably damaged if they are moved, as costs of production will increase and marketing facilities will be minimised drastically; the future of the craft itself.
"Art and artisans: The potters of Al-Fawakhir have traditions as old as the Nile's silt, but now the community is threatened with extinction. As they face an uncertain fate, their fingers never falter, smoothing the rich Aswan clay as the wheel turns, and turns again.To the left: a limestone frieze currently being emulated in red clay
photos: Sherif Sonbol
It is not the first time that the potters have been targeted by government relocation plans. As mentioned, they originally came from the area surrounding the Amr Ibn Al-Aas Mosque. "Everyone was relocated in 1964. See, it was only a very short distance and yet we lost around 50 per cent of the artisans in that move. Can you imagine what an even more drastic move would do?" questioned Mohamed Mandour, an internationally renowned potter who was brought up in the Al-Fawakhir area. The drama, however, did not end with the move of the mid-'60s. The government did not remove the potters' huts around the mosque and eventually those in need of work and space moved back in. Officials seemed to turn a blind eye to the violation, deciding to take action only two years ago. It took a four-hour confrontation to get the potters out; the workshops were razed. "We got out with the shirts on our backs," remembers Abbas, one of those evicted two years ago. "We were promised compensation, which has not yet materialised. Some people went back to their villages, some changed jobs and some found work here. Many others were less fortunate and now fill the coffee shops around Amr Mosque, waiting for any kind of work."
The artisans of Al-Fawakhir now find themselves in a confusing position. "Now they tell us: 'This is the centre of the town, not a place for your work.' Well, where was everyone when this was a place full of garbage, when people were afraid to simply pass through here, more or less work and live?" questions Abu Birgo. Everyone you talk to on the streets of Al-Fawakhir will tell you they are more than willing to upgrade -- but they need help, or at least assurances that their investment will be safe in the future. For example, take the problem of the smoke emitted by the kilns. "We used to use old tires and leather scraps as fuel. Today, almost everyone is using sawdust, which is more expensive but produces a lot less smoke," says 'Amm Ali as we pass his kiln.
The main example everyone points to is the kiln installed at 'Amm Ahmed's -- an effort supported by the Evangelical Society and the Arab Organisation for Industry, which cost LE17,000. "Do you think we like the smoke, do you think we do not want to improve?" asks Abu Birgo. "The problem is that it is expensive. If people help us, we are ready." Even those who have opted to upgrade through the use of gas tanks worry that the investment will be for nothing. "I spent LE3,000 installing a gas connection and it minimises the smoke. I can do more, but what if the government decides to move me tomorrow?"
On an aesthetic level, artists like Mandour fear that beyond the human and practical implications and costs, there is the possibility of trampling on the last vestiges of an important part of our history. "Already we are losing our heritage," he laments as he painstakingly uses a small needle to perforate a piece of ornately designed clay. "I can remember in my childhood the shapes of qulal [clay water jugs] that can no longer be found. Look at what I am working on -- it is not an original design but the copy of shibbak qulla that I saw at the Islamic Museum. Compare it to the water jugs of today. Why is this heritage not being preserved?" He takes his point further. "Already three quarters of the old city has all been lost -- what we have left are just symbolic remains -- ruins."
Pottery as a modern art form was introduced into Egypt in the 1930s by the efforts of artist Said El-Sadr. "El-Sadr traveled to England and learned modern techniques, but then one day a professor asked him 'Why don't you study your own heritage instead?'," Mandour recounts. El-Sadr promptly returned and went directly to Al-Fawakhir. He was behind the establishment of the Fustat Centre in 1970.
A limestone frieze currently being emulated in red clay
photo: Sherif Sonbol
Mandour is the first to acknowledge, however, that the problem goes beyond mere relocation. Take market forces -- here is a double edged sword. On one hand, artists like Mandour lament the loss of traditional forms of pottery, while on the other, many potters are proud of the development of their ware. "It is true you can rarely find someone making a water jug today," says Ibrahim, "but that is because everyone is drinking out of glass and plastic jugs. There are refrigerators. We have developed our products and we make plant holders and light fixtures. These are important items and it is our work that fills the tourist villages of the Red Sea and other posh areas." Abu Birgo boasts that it is the potters who invented the shuqafa used on the roofs of sea side resorts. "They do not absorb any water at all and look nice as well," he explains proudly.
The artists who have come to work in the area have learned much from the potters' community, which in turn has been influenced by the new trends. "We come here because we are closer to the materials we use and because there is a lot to learn from the artisans: how to deal with cracks, breakage etc.," explains Doss. "Because of our education, however, we have been able to introduce modern forms of pottery. For example, we have introduced Greek forms and by this process have expanded the imagination of the traditional artisans."
Artists who are an organic component of the traditional form are wary of such influence, however. "People do not realise that the wonderful things you see in Cairo's museums come from this place and that, to return to that developed form, you must learn from these people -- it is an education that does not come from institutions. Long ago, there was the master and his apprentices. One of the apprentices would show talent and become an artist. Talent, you understand, is not something you inherit or learn. You either have it or you don't. But to discover that, you first have to become a good artisan. Pottery is like poetry. How can you become a poet without good language skills?" Youssri Ibrahim will tell you that the basic ground work is done by the artisans. "We do the big work, then the artist comes and puts the artistic touches." Mandour elaborates. "The process of making pottery is a unified one -- if you break it up into phases, you break the unity. For 42 years, my hands have been in the mud. When you merely copy, the result is a deformed art -- objects like orphans."
As the debate rages on, hard work continues inside the dawalib. Although the work at the potters' table may look like fun, it is a tedious job. "Every day we go to the mill to get the mud powder which comes from Aswan. Here, it is mixed with water and a worker steps on it till it makes a nice paste which is then left to ferment." Some pieces are then formed at one go -- larger pieces usually take two to three phases. The rough cut is then dried in the sun, then ornamentation is put on before the final stage of firing the clay in the kiln. Because of the many stages there are considerable losses throughout the process.
Raw materials, furthermore, are expensive. Abu Birgo points out: "Around 1985, many changed their profession when strict laws were implemented to preserve the topsoil. Getting mud in those days was like getting drugs." Today, the mud comes from Aswan, but it is more expensive. Nor is daily life in the slum easy. People point out the lack of sewage, the sporadic availability of water and the absence of garbage collection.
Aware of the challenges, everyone is in search of practical solutions. The artists have signed a statement addressed to the government calling for the development and preservation of the area. Mandour suggests that an empty plot of land near the Fustat Centre be used for relocation and development: overhauling the workshops, creating an artistic centre and attracting tourists at the same time. The artisans emphasise the fact that their wares are appreciated abroad. "From all over Europe, people come to buy and export. These are the people who went to the moon and have developed so much technology -- they come to our workshops in search of water jugs," says Abu Birgo incredulously, adding: "Besides, the use of earthenware products in cooking is much better. That is what they tell us -- in Europe everyone is going back to the old ways. I mean really: is frozen meat the same as fresh? What will happen here when people realise this and there are no potters left? Will we import something we are the professors of?"
Both artists and artisans point to foreign countries where potters are preserved as an important cultural heritage. "We hear that the potters are really respected in Morocco and Tunisia and Italy. I will not tell you that they should respect our art, but it seems everyone respects what is handmade. How about us?" asks Ibrahim as he looks at his red-stained hands.
Despite the strength of their arguments, everyone in Al-Fawakhir remains sceptical. They point to a newly-built block of apartments up the road. "The metre was going for LE1,000. Gives you some idea of what this land is worth and the interests that must be involved," says a young man from the area who has recently bought into the new complex.
On the way out, one can see the door through which Amr Ibn Al-Aas entered Cairo, at the bottom of the Hanging Church. This is presently the focus of much restoration effort. Truly a magnificent heritage; one wonders if the "less impressive at first sight" potters' heritage will ever draw this much consideration. If only people could have seen Mandour's eyes as he told me: "The history of pottery is the history of civilization -- after all, there is a very intricate relationship between man and clay. Isn't that what we are made of?
