Detox | The challenge continues

WHAT’S UP? 

It’s the first weekend of the holy month — Ramadan karim!

Telling weekdays and weekends apart has already become a challenge, but as the difficult days of fasting in this heat approach, even day and night will start to mesh into one another as the government combats the spread of COVID-19: things will slow down during the day, as is always the case pre-iftar in Ramadan, while a curfew continues to curtail our evening movement. The challenge continues.

We hope to get past these trying times and live to see a post-coronavirus world — or at least just go back to working from our office, which is now closed due to the precautionary measures of social distancing we’ve been holding ourselves to.

We know it’s necessary to stay home right now, but we do miss the office, where we could always hear Amr Diab’s voice in the background, thanks to our colleague Osama Shaaban, an avid listener of the Egyptian pop icon. In this week’s Listen section, Osama reveals to us the secret behind his infatuation with his favourite artist: “Back in the day, when I was in my teenage years, Amr Diab was different from everyone else, in both how he looked and what he sang. And now, after all these years, he remains the only artist with the ability to soar above the ceiling of time.”

And while we’re on the subject of Amr Diab and Ramadan, we take a leap back in time to remember the moment Diab appeared in Sherihan’s fawazeer (daily riddle show) in Ramadan of 1985:

READ

This week, as is our habit, we share a number of readings we found to be particularly insightful in how they approach the current impasse: 

- “It’s a myth that our reactions to danger are fight or flight. There’s a third option often pursued: to gather for reassurance, protection, strength, and insight.” So starts the editor’s note accompanying an excerpt from Rebbeca Solnit’s 2009 book A Paradise Built in Hell: The Extraordinary Communities That Arise in Disaster, re-shared by Literary Hub (they originally published it in 2016, upon the election of Donald Trump; a disaster of a different kind). Solnit writes: “The image of the selfish, panicky or regressively savage human being in times of disaster has little truth to it. Decades of meticulous sociological research on behavior in disasters, from the bombings of World War II to floods, tornadoes, earthquakes and storms across the continent and around the world, have demonstrated this. But belief lags behind, and often the worst behavior in the wake of a calamity is on the part of those who believe that others will behave savagely and that they themselves are taking defensive measures against barbarism.”

- In a piece titled “The Pandemic and the Female Academic,” statistician and social demographer Alessandra Minello discusses the effect of the current coronavirus crisis on the home and working life of women in academia: “Overall, the COVID-19 experience is changing the way research is done, especially in some sectors: the new mechanisms of accelerated peer review, the increased quantity and speed of available data and the distribution of funding across sectors are changing the equilibria of the academic world, and we will need to pay attention to the effects this has on disparities … So, what happens if both members of a heterosexual couple are at home? The greatest likelihood is that this will exacerbate gender inequality.”

- In a piece in the New York Times, Turkish author and Nobel laureate Orhan Pamuk — who has been working for years on a novel titled Nights of Plague — explores the lessons “the great plague novels” teach us about the current moment: “Much of the literature of plague and contagious diseases presents the carelessness, incompetence and selfishness of those in power as the sole instigator of the fury of the masses. But the best writers, such as Defoe and Camus, allowed their readers a glimpse at something other than politics lying beneath the wave of popular fury, something intrinsic to the human condition … that behind the endless remonstrances and boundless rage there also lies an anger against fate, against a divine will that witnesses and perhaps even condones all this death and human suffering, and a rage against the institutions of organized religion that seem unsure how to deal with any of it.”

- The New Yorker publishes an interview with author and social commentator Fran Lebowitz, a lifetime champion of staying home and “doing nothing.” In the conversation, Lebowitz details how she’s surviving self-isolation; her views on Donald Trump and the recent democraitc primaries; her friendship with Toni Morrison; and the sadness she feels seeing her beloved city, New York, so quiet and different: “After September 11th, I was on the street twenty-four hours a day, and I was riveted by the things I saw. I’m not talking about being down by the World Trade Center; all over town there was stuff you never would have imagined seeing. But now it’s just sad. On the one hand, you’re happy you don’t have a million people slamming into you while they’re looking at their phones. On the other hand, it’s like a meadow without the good features of a meadow. Meadows—not my favorite thing. There are no restaurants in a meadow. But there are flowers, there are trees. This is like a meadow with no trees.”

- On the book front, since we might have more time than usual these days, Ahmed Wael recommends Franco “Bifo” Berardi’s The Soul at Work: From Alienation to Autonomy, recently available in an Arabic translation by Ahmed Hassan. The book, he says, is fitting for the current moment, in which most of us have shifted to working from home as offices remain closed, and especially now, with the start of Ramadan, a month that has always been challenging for workers across different spectrums. 

WATCH

For Egyptian drama aficionados, perhaps it’s still too early to evaluate the quality of the annual Ramadan series marathon, and even more premature to give recommendations. So instead of anticipating the future, we’ll jump back into the past and relive memories of previous Ramadan seasons, recommending some of the best shows from the golden age of Egyptian fawazeer:

In 1977, Egypyian television aired Soura wa Talat Fawazeer (A Picture and Three Riddles), starring popular actress Nelly, widely considered the godmother of Egyptian fawazeer. In the two years that followed, Nelly again had her own fawazeer show: Soura wa Talateen Fazoura (A Picture and Thirty Riddles) and Ana Wenta wel Fazoura (You, Me and the Riddle), respectively.

The beginning of the next decade saw Nelly still at the forefront of Ramadan’s fawazeer, with 1980’s production Arosty (My Doll), followed by Al-Khatba (The Matchmaker) in 1981.

Meanwhile, what made 1982 pretty memorable was that it was the first year Fattouta was aired on television. That year, the title and theme of the show — which starred iconic comedian Samir Ghanem — was Shakhseyat (Famous Characters) and, in the years that followed, Ghanem presented the show under the theme of Aflam (Films) and then Maaloumat Amma (General Knowledge).

1985 marked the birth of a new fawazeer star: Sherihan, who leapt onto the scene — in a flurry of glitter and gloriously long black hair — with the show A Thousand and One Nights.

Do you remember when we were saying Amr Diab is the soundtrack of our office? Well, we thought it would be fitting to pause at these two episodes where the singer — then in his very early years — makes an appearance with Sherihan:

In 1987, Sherihan was still still on top, with her show Hawl al-Alam (Around the World), as well as a new season of A Thousand and One Nights.

Sherihan took a break afterward, which allowed new players to enter the fawazeer scene over the next two years. In 1988, renowned actor Yehia al-Fakharany, along with actresses Hala Fouad and Sabrine, starred in Al-Monasabat (Special Occasions) while actress Sherine Reda and musician Medhat Saleh starred in Al-Fenoun (The Arts) the following year.

In 1990, Nelly made a comeback with Alam Waraq (A Paper World), which continued for two more seasons after that.

1993 witnessed another comeback, this time from Sherihan, who starred in Hagat wa Mehtagat (Odds and Ends):

The following year, Samah Anwar and Sherine Seif al-Nasr, along with Samir Sabry and Hassan Kamy, co-starred in Ehna Fein? (Where Are We?), while in 1995 and 1996, Nelly made yet another comeback with two other fawazeer shows.

In 1997, another fawazeer star — the very last one, it is safe to say — emerged: Nadine, originally a ballet dancer, who made her debut television performance in Giran al-Hana (Wonderful Neighbours), and starred in Manestaghnash (Can’t Do Without) the following year: 

LISTEN

This week, our colleague Osama Shaaban, a hardcore Amr Diab fan, writes about his favourite artist, whom he describes as “a master of remaining relevant” who “has never become old-school or out of fashion.” Shaaban further elaborates on the secret of his affection for the pop icon, recommending a selection of Diab’s songs that represent distinctive milestones of his life: “All of my life’s memories are intertwined with Amr Diab’s music. Yet this man was never just a musician or a singer for me but a leader of a rebellion; a rebellion against the standards of what was socially acceptable and what was taboo at that point in time; against how the patriarchy defined what ‘good’ art and music were.”

- “Hatmarrad Ala al-Wade al-Haly” (I Will Rebel Against the Status Quo):
Amr Diab defined rebellion in my teenage years.

I started following this exceptional artist in the early stages of my adolescence, and because of the criticism he first faced when he emerged on the scene from those who appreciated old-school songs by classical stars such as Abdelhalim Hafez, Amr Diab began to be considered a rebel among us (the generation of the late 1970s and early 1980s). He rebelled against the long songs, traditional rhythms and typical lyrics of that time. His rebellion coincided with mine — I was a teenager, after all. The norm at that time was for artists to just follow in the steps of those who came before them to ensure their space on the scene for the longest amount of time possible. For example, it was typical for singers to be on stage in a full suit and tie, with side-swept hair, singing from the same spot during the entire performance. I didn’t find this satisfying. There was no novelty, no progressiveness. Were we really just going to let the previous generations define how we should act and look and what we should listen to? I didn’t want anyone to determine my taste or my preferences in any form or manner.

- “Raseef Nemra Khamsa” (Platform Number Five):
It reminds me of when my friends and I would hang out in Maadi during school years.

Diab rebelled in a clever and very professional way that was unique to the rest of his peers. He wanted to have his own endeavor, whether he failed or succeeded: not only did he rebel against the traditional forms of music that were still prevalent at the time, he even rebelled against how singers were expected to dress by creating his own unique look. In his example, I found what I was looking for; something I could relate to, that somehow reflected me.

Diab’s intelligence continues till now, and in the same capacity. Decades later, he is still the only one among the stars of his generation who is not only capable of rolling with the times but also being a tend-setter. No other artist was able to stay on top for all this time — it’s been more than thirty years now. Despite the fact that he’s almost 60, he was able to achieve a strange equation that continues to attract a young audience to him to this day. Amr Diab is a main figure in my past, the first who ever made an impact of me; I still experience the present in terms of his songs, and I know full well that he will be there in my future, because I’m sure he still has more to give. He simply doesn’t grow old.

- “Wa Nendam” (We regret):
This represents an old relationship of mine which ended. Every time I listen to this song, I remember my feelings of hurt and disappointment after the break-up.

- “Habibi” (My Love):
The first song I ever sent to my girlfriend, who is now my wife.

- “Baateref” (I Confess):
I danced to this song at my wedding.

The irony is that, while this is what Amr Diab represents for me, for my thirteen-year-old son — who constantly listens to mahraganat music (which I totally hate) — Diab, the man who represents me and my generation, is considered old school. He doesn’t identify with him, just like I didn’t identify with the idols of the generations that preceded me: Om Kalthum, Abdel Halim Hafez and others. It’s the same generational struggle I witnessed in my adolescence, only that I give my son more freedom than I had, a personal space in which I try not to interfere with anything, because I know that he will go through a thought process similar to mine in the past. Perhaps when he’s a bit older and gets into a romantic relationship, he’ll have more of a tendency to listen to music that expresses what he feels — maybe he’ll discover a new appreciation for Amr Diab then, or maybe not. I’m okay either way. 

- “Tamalli Maak” (Always With You):
This song summarizes my experience with Amr Diab. The heightened feeling in his voice and the music. And the video, of course — it even influenced how I dressed at the time.

SALAM

Until next week, dear readers — stay safe and sane.