Last call

The ruins of his house are all that is left of Sayed Darwish in Alexandria, Abeer Anwar finds out, leaving his townspeople disgruntled

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One of the rooms of Darwish's house; Clockwise from top, residents of Sayed Darwish's one-time neighbourhood: Abu Mohamed, the cobbler; Hassan, the bicycle repairman; a resident; the café where Darwish spent time with his neighbours; the street where he lived; the entrance of the house

Following his tragic death on 15 September 1923, Sayed Darwish, born in Koum Al-Dekka, Alexandria on 17 March 1892, was soon identified as a pioneer of Arabic music. He has since been lionised as a leader of the turn-of-the-century cultural renaissance, a major voice of the 1919 Revolution and arguably the first exponent of a grassroots Egyptian sound. He was a poor man's son and remained more or less poor throughout his short life, living mostly in the small flat at 112 Haj Badawi Alley, off Al-Souq Street, in which he was born. He was an only son, arriving after three daughters -- Farida and Satouta were already married when he was born; Zeinab was married and moved out when he was 10 -- and thus pampered by his parents. Still, he worked in construction to help support his parents; legend has it that, overheard by the manager of a musical troupe while he led his fellow workmen in singing, he was hired on the spot. As a musician he caught the pulse of the people, producing music that was distinctive for being true to their collective identity and national aspirations.

Visit Koum Al-Dekka, however, and you will find Darwish's old house in ruins, 120 years after his birth. "It turned into rubble years ago," says Mohamed Awad, former president of the Centre for Preservation of Alexandria's Cultural Heritage, "when unidentified people started pulling it down." A barely upright fence and a rubble-strewn yard: this is all that remains of the People's Artist's dwelling place, where he produced his music. And the public demand to turn Darwish's house into a museum has fallen on deaf ears. According to Raouf Sharkas, an inhabitant of the district who listened to Sheikh Sayed live, "this talented artist put Koum Al-Dekka on the cultural map; as you can see, every coffee house hangs his picture on its walls. The house of a man like him should be dealt with respectfully, with care -- people like Sayed Darwish reflect our culture, our history and our Arab identity." If C P Cavafy's apartment was turned into a museum, he adds, why shouldn't Sayed Darwish's? Other neighbours like Mohsen Farid agree: "I see people all over the world paying attention to places where great politicians, artists or musicians visited, let alone lived." He recalls a Russian small town in which a very simple house was turned into a museum simply because Chekhov had stayed there overnight. For his part Abu Mahmoud, the neighbourhood cobbler, remembers Darwish spending time with people of different trades and singing to them (something still evident in his operettas, in which the jargon and rhythms of the trades are evoked with startling vividness): "as a child I loved listening to him. He was very humble and kind to children."

The local bicycle repairman, Ibrahim Hassan, and the owner of an ironing shop, Abu Mohamed, both recall special moments with Darwish evidencing his love of the poor, especially the young -- like the two of them at the time. Abu Mohamed says, "he loved singing for poor and humble people. As little boys we would sit next to him listening for hours -- those songs are still engraved in our memories." Why is no one interested in Darwish's house, they ask. "Is it because it happens to be located in Koum Al-Dekka?" Hassan enquires. "We all love him, we want his house to be a gathering point for lovers of his music. That way, sitting in there, remembering his songs, we'd feel he's still among us."

The Alexandrine painter Esmat Dawstashi says there were restoration plans which suddenly came to a halt, like so much else in government projects it would seem: "in 1995, the culture minister drew up a committee to study the means to restore Koum Al-Dekka; suddenly everything stopped." Hassan El-Bahr Darwish, the musician's grandson, says the house is 57 square metres and consists of three rooms and a small hallway. "Sayed Darwish was born in one of those rooms," he adds. "The house has no pillars; it is built in red brick in the rural style." El-Bahr remembers that the Alexandria Rotary Club proposed to restore the house several years ago, but their offer too simply vanished. He has since refused to sell the property to foreign cultural organisations, who had similar plans: "it is our Egyptian heritage and we are capable of taking care of it; all that we need is to pay a little more attention to this particular project."

Koum Al-Dekka has other claims to fame. It had been one of the biggest industrial districts in the city, known for the export of furniture to Italy. In 1882 it was the centre of operations for armed struggle against the invading British army -- a spirit kept up in some of Darwish's best-known songs, including the current national anthem. And its state notwithstanding, the place retains something of the spirit of its owner.