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Al-Ahram Weekly 26 Aug. - 1 Sep. 1999 Issue No. 444 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 26 Aug. - 1 Sep. 1999 Issue No. 444
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Focus Culture Features Profile Travel Living Sports People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters The pasha's path
By Fatemah Farag
In Qalyubiya, beyond the villages of Nout Taha and Kafr Taha, you will eventually reach Taha Noub. The village is no different from its neighbours, except for one landmark -- Ministers Road. Just cross the train tracks into the village and you will be upon the threshold of a green and shady tunnel which extends as far as the eye can see. Step inside, and you are transported into what seems like another place, and another time.
The dirt road, which runs parallel to a small, refuse-clogged canal, owes its fame to the majestic Casuarina trees that line both its sides. They reach straight up to the sky, then incline gracefully across the path to form a cool, sheltering arch. The road, which used to be the private entrance to the property of Ahmed Hamza Pasha, minister of agriculture in the 1930s, is about three kilometres long and is today bordered by two- and three-storey brick and cement houses inhabited by the villagers.
The local press has recently announced that the trees are to be "massacred" by the local government; white lime marks on many of the trees indeed indicate those designated for execution. "They are only going to cut down the bad trees," said Asmahan Mustafa, whose house stands on the side of the road. "As you can see, some have fallen down. It's quite dangerous." She pointed at a trunk lying by the side of the road. Ahmed Mohamed Eid, head of the Taha Noub Local Council, explained: "The Roads Authority asked us to count and mark all trees that might fall on all main roads. Ministers Road was one of those we covered. We discovered that out of 300 trees, 57 needed to be removed. They were marked, and the Roads Authority will be responsible for their removal."
It may seem strange that any tree at all is being targeted for removal in a country where a national drive to plant more trees has been initiated at the highest level of government. Trees in Egypt are a precious resource, and the trees of Ministers Road are more precious than most. Many of our most cherished black-and-white movies feature at least one song, dance and love scene on "Memory Lane", as it is popularly known. Perhaps most importantly, this is a village which has little by way of entertainment apart from this road -- a road the village inherited from the pashas thanks to a political movement undertaken in the name of the people.
"At the beginning of the century, the canal used to run through the old part of the village. Ahmed Hamza Pasha rerouted it to its present location because it was a source of dirt and pollution inside the village. This became the entrance to his palace and so he planted the trees," remembers Mohamed Abu Stit, one of the oldest inhabitants of the village. He has little to say about the rich and famous who once walked the road, however; the younger generation seems more interested in this aspect of its "historical significance".
Dappled shade and memories: Abu Stit (top) and 'Amm Sayed remember the good old days on Memory Lane, but maintain that its celebrity status was "the pasha's business". While the villagers value the trees, they have other needs as well
photos: Sherif Sonbol
Young children who have gathered around us scream out enthusiastically, "Yes, Mohamed Fawzi rode his horse down this road and Laila Murad stayed here for a week when she was filming Ghazl Al-Banat (Candy Floss)." They know these pieces of information because their grandparents told them, but Abu Stit has no comment. He just smiles and says: "Yes, these things happened but they were none of our business. It is not what we were interested in. Today, what is important is that we want to keep the road because it makes our town beautiful."
As we watch children playing and farmers going back and forth on the road, Ahmed Hamad, a young man who works as a security guard, tells us that, for the villagers, "this road is like the Corniche in Cairo. It is where people can come out to walk at night. You know, engaged couples and families. It is where I used to come and study and where my younger brothers and sisters come to play. I wish the government would beautify it instead."
The prospects of developing the road or even saving the trees that will remain seem slim, however. At the Local Council headquarters, Eid explains that there is nothing they can do to develop the road because it is "not part of the plan". This is unfortunate as far as the officials are concerned, not only because the road was once a celebrity in its own right, but also because of the very practical needs of the villagers today. "The road is important because it connects the main highway with the more remote villages. That is why we have tried repeatedly to get it paved, but the answer we have received is that this cannot be done because it is not registered with the Roads Authority. This also means that no one is responsible for planting trees in the place of those that will be removed," explained Eid, pushing official documents to this effect across his desk with a sigh of exasperation.
The problem is as follows: Memory Lane was not a public road but the private entrance to a palace. After 1956, when major parts of the pasha's land were redistributed to various public sector entities like a perfume factory and the Land Reclamation Authority, the road was opened for public use but its legal status remains ambiguous.
Villagers will tell you that the road is probably the least of their concerns. Their needs have not changed much since the days when Memory Lane was off limits. "Everybody makes such a big deal about the trees. You want to know about real problems? Well, how about the fact that we still do not have a sewage system?" asks Adila indignantly
At the other end of the road, jasmine and bitter orange orchards border the fence of a deserted palace, the gates of which are locked tight with heavy chains kept in place with rusty padlocks. The scent of the flowers hangs heavy in the afternoon heat and as we stroll between the neat rows of trees, one can almost see Laila Murad in the distance and almost hear the sweet strains of her voice. Instead, it is 'Amm Sayed who appears, screaming at his goats. He is hard of hearing after long years of toil. "Yes, I remember those times, the times of the pasha," he rasps harshly. "I used to work in these very orchards. It was long, hard work -- merciless. I and others from the village would work all day for two ta'rifas . I remember those coins well, they were red, the colour of gold." About the trees and the fancy people, he adds philosophically: "Trees go bad, it happens. And the movies... Well, we heard, but then it was not our business. It was the pasha's business. I worked the fields. The coins were very red, the colour of gold..." We walk on behind his goats. Are things better now, then? He looks up at the trees and finally sighs: "Each era has its call to prayer."
