Amira El-Noshokaty bemoans yet another relocation of the Azbakia book market Cairo's biggest second-hand book market -- originally held along the Azbakia Park fence -- is one of the city's enduring landmarks. After being relocated three times, it now occupies one small corner of the park, itself fenced off with a gateway jam-packed full of street vendors and cars. Yet the Azbakia legend remains a major constituent of Cairo's cultural identity. The park itself was once much larger, with 20 acres of greenery that incorporated the National Theatre among other cultural venues. The space is now divided between streets, parking lots and a shooting club. Crammed together to choking point, the booksellers will now be forced to move -- again. "This is the fourth time we've to move," Mohamed Sadek, one Azbakia bookseller, lamented. "The first time was in the 1980s, when they built the Al-Azhar Bridge. The second was in the early 1990s, when they started drilling for the subway metro; we were placed in Darrasa then, in front of the morgue, stock in the middle of a drug dealing area, so the number of customers dwindled. Then, after the archaeological work in what is now Al-Azhar Park, Egypt's intellects and cultural voices stood by us and we managed to come back here in 1998. Now that the third phase of the subway drilling is due, we are forced to move again. But let me ask just one thing: didn't they know in advance? Couldn't they plan a stable location for us from the start? We have families to support, you know; instability is our ruin. Besides, the place we're moving to by the park entrance -- which is already overcrowded with street vendors -- is far narrower, especially as the other side of the fence is off-limits, for security reasons. There won't be enough space to display books, which is the only way we can sell. It's going to be a mess." Already, of 133 uninsured, un- syndicated booksellers, a significant number have lost their livelihoods, if not, indeed, their lives. Yet according to Mahmoud Yassin, Deputy Cairo Governor for west Cairo, the relocation is a priority, tantamount to a "national cause". His claim is that the government has been considerate: the booksellers will only have to move a short distance, next to the Mohamed Farid Statue, and the government will provide for Islamic-style bookshops and cover expenses. Almost in the same breath, however, Yassin washes his hands off the street vendors issue: "They have no legal right to be there; when the booksellers set up, this will automatically prevent them from occupying the space." Yassin's own contribution to a long series of suggested plans was to relocate the booksellers elsewhere within the park grounds, and establish a library to "revive the glorious days"; fearing for the few remaining green areas, however, the governor refused to pass the plan. This would have worked very well, since booksellers like Harby Mohasseb -- one of the booksellers' six official spokesmen -- are no strangers to the park: "In the late 1970s when they wanted to build the Al-Azhar Bridge, we were moved to the street parallel to this one here, which was an extension of the 26 July Road running through the park; so our location was called Bain Al-Ganayen [Between the Gardens]. But before long, with the second phase of the subway, we were moved to Darrasa. As early as the turn of the 20th century, our forefathers sold old, used and authentic books in downtown cafés then known as cultural ones. In the afternoons they needed a place to rest, and they picked the Azbakia fence where they sat quietly in the shade. Their wares attracted customers, however, so the fence became their focal point. It was not until the cabinet of [Mustafa] El-Nahhas Pasha came to power that they were given permits to station themselves alongside the fence and sell books -- in the form of a medal. At that time, we were located right opposite the George Abiad Theatre, the National Theatre now, overlooking the Royal Opera House square." Even so, Mohasseb captures but a fraction of the neighbourhood's incredibly illustrious history, which extends far further back in time. According to the Egyptian Association for Social Studies' eponymous guide, indeed, Azbakia is named after Azbak Bin Talh Al-Zaheri who reconstructed the neighbourhood in the late 15th century. In the reign of Khedive Ismail -- starting in 1864 -- the area was turned into a vast and beautiful park enclosing food courts, cafés, gardens, ponds for rowing and, after 1869, the Royal Opera House and the beautiful square built to accommodate it. According to Arafa Ali's book Cairo During the Reign of Ismail, it also enclosed a theatre and a hall for religious ceremonies. Not until the 26 July Road was extended in the early 1970s, cutting through the park and splitting it into two halves, as it were, did the area's condition begin to seriously deteriorate. It was a sad moment. "Why spend money on new bookshops when we already have our own and cater perfectly to our customers? We're even ready to move back to Bain Al-Ganayen at our own expense," Mohasseb pontificates. "I have a bookshop in the heart of Attaba, downtown, yet here I am in this obscure place, selling rare books side by side with street vendors, concealed by a fence, as if culture is a disgrace." The location can reduce the amount of business being made so much that a bookseller like Mohasseb might end up with no more than LE10 at the end of a long hard day: "It's ridiculous. You do this, then you complain about rising unemployment rates. Why don't we open up the other gate, which shuts us off from the rest of this busy square for a start? I've spent my life on books, but passionate about them as I may be, I made sure my children should keep away from this profession." The present-day conditions of booksellers are far from encouraging. Already some 15 bookshops are out of business, unable to achieve the minimum necessary to keep going -- i.e. LE150 per month -- notwithstanding some 800 cultural figures (Azbakia Book Fence Seekers) signing a petition in favour of the booksellers last Ramadan. For his part Saber Abdu, another bookseller, believes the plight of Azbakia is behind the decline in culture: "There is no real development without culture, and this district is home to the National, Al-Tali'a and the Puppet theatres, along with 133 bookshop -- it's a cultural district the like of which doesn't exist anywhere else in the world. If there is no Azbakia fence, these valuable volumes will end up as wrapping paper for termis -- or else sweet potatoes..."
