Dr Mursi Saad Al-Din, Commander of the British Empire and former head of the State Information Service, deserved a state send-off. However, in the current political climate in the country that was not possible. This, of course, is less a comment on Dr Mursi than on the more insipid politics of contemporary Egypt. His links with government in the last decade of his life were weak. He was aging and ailing, and – I must add – gracefully so. I was never quite sure what he made of politicians, even though he interacted often with them. I suspect Dr Mursi did not quite trust the motives of politicians, and especially of Egypt's rulers. However, he was too much of a diplomat to speak his mind openly. His live-and-let-live credo and lack of political ambition served him well in those years when he was very close to the centre of power. He lived most of his life under dictators, and even befriended some of the most distrusted foreign ones half a world away, Imelda Marcos. Dr Mursi had worked with women in the media, of course, but it was different working for the wives of men like Sadat and Marcos. Many, I am certain, will shed a tear. He found no Jezebels, just very intelligent and very powerful women with sharp political acumen doing their best to get by in difficult situations dominated by even more powerful men. Dr Mursi worked under four Egyptian leaders — King Farouk, Gamal Abdel-Nasser and Hosni Mubarak. However, he was closest to the Anwar Sadat, and closer still to his widow Gehan Al-Sadat. That represented a poor outlook for Egyptian democracy, and he understood that and made the most of it when opportunity beckoned. He even tried his hand and often got away with portentous state theatre. But, to tell the truth, he did not always do it so well, rather with a dash of panache. Dr Mursi had a wealth of fascinating, amusing and sometimes mind-boggling anecdotes pertaining to the many historic events he had witnessed, reported on and analysed from the 1950s to this day. He has had several careers, and he was a pioneer in virtually all of them. He began in the print media, at a time when the revolutionary Egypt of the late President Gamal Abdel-Nasser was reaching out in solidarity with other parts of the developing nations of the South, especially Africa and Asia. He later moved into radio, when Egyptian broadcasting in English was a novelty. He also inaugurated several Egyptian cultural centres abroad. Dr Mursi was a jet-setter long before the term was invented, representing Egypt, Africa, Afro-Asian writers and a host of other Third World entities at countless international forums. He well deserved the accolades that appeared with ever-increasing regularity in many highly esteemed Arab and Egyptian publications, especially towards the end of his life. As if that wasn't enough for one lifetime, no one to my knowledge dared to qualify their eulogies after his passing. For Dr Mursi, the Sadat years were exciting and exceptionally rewarding. He quickly moved high up the political ladder and became the official government and presidential spokesman. Early on, however, he had realised that politics was not a welcoming arena for an intellectual. During the critical years between 1973 and 1979, he was the head of the State Information Service. He had all the information at his fingertips, and was master of all curious and strange lore. I wonder if he regrets not working at the more literary end of things. He takes things in his stride, however, and has no truck with such unpleasant notions as regrets or bitterness. Precisely because he had no wish to play political games, he was naturally trusted and widely consulted. A friend of kings, presidents, prime ministers and a host of lesser mortals, he possesses a winning combination of simplicity and sophistication. He had met my father on numerous occasions and had last interviewed him in 1964 in Accra, Ghana, soon after an assassination attempt on Kwame Nkrumah's life. He also taught my sister Samia Arabic at Legon University, Ghana, in the early 1980s. But I personally only met him when he was way past his prime. I can proudly say that I made a regular appearance on his Nile TV chat show, Open Forum, which tackled political and cultural questions and which he launched over two decades ago. As it is, I often started my day at work with a little chat with the courteous, bright-eyed and affable gentleman behind the desk of his rather modest Al-Ahram Weekly office, the same gentleman whose name graced practically every English-language publication in the country. These and other memorable experiences with him make me smile fondly at his minuscule niche on the ninth floor of the Al-Ahram Building even as I pen his obituary. But here, too, there is no room for nostalgia. He would not have had it any other way. He knew full well that, the Pyramids and Sphinx aside, the Egyptians' finest monuments are hewn in words. The diminutive man wore a permanent rich, dark and very earthy tan, in sharp contrast with his silver hair which even in his fourscore years still had enough body to lend a mark of distinction on its bearer — the unruly curls of yesteryear had mellowed somewhat. He had a ready smile — more chuckle than grin — and he looked you directly in the eye. It is as if he was scanning your soul in search of your naughtiest blunders. And he did this with a glow of elfin youthfulness, even — or especially so — at the age of 92. It is a technique he put to full effect when he hosted distinguished personalities on his television show. Dr Mursi's most fascinating talent was to make people see the lighter side of things. His smiling face set people, even politicians and public figures, at ease — and even when discussing weighty topics on air. He knew that social bonds need to be nurtured in the world of international politics. Dr Mursi still sings the praises of the two strong women with whom he worked in his capacity as adviser. He arranged a historic meeting between Marcos and militant Muslim secessionist leaders seeking independence for the southernmost Philippine island of Mindanao. “I am a great believer in the importance of history as an integral part on any school curriculum. I am also an avid reader of history,” he mused. After all, he was married to a headmistress. No one would have guessed that tragedy struck him thrice, but he lost two close family members in quick succession and was indelibly marked by their deaths. First, his favourite younger brother, the legendary composer Baligh Hamdi, passed away. Then, just over a year ago, another tragedy struck. His only son, Hamdi, was suddenly taken ill, and died shortly afterwards. Mursi missed his son dreadfully. Losing a child is unimaginable, “something no father can ever get over. They say time is the great healer, but I don't think so,” tears were fast welling up in his eyes. And then his wife passed away. Still, he was quite a stranger to self-pity. He had his granddaughter, the apple of his eye, and he was determined to get on with the task of living, even after he lost his only son. It was not easy. It was the most ferocious battle he had fought; but he was resilient, and this stubborn good humour, in a sense, was Dr Mursi's way of honouring his son. “Now Hamdi had a biting sense of humour,” he mused. “I have never befriended anyone who didn't have a sense of humour.” Every single eulogism in praise for Dr Mursi seems beautiful, but the most beautiful dithyramb for me is “he was an amiable man” by Madame Moushira Abdel-Malak, the widow of Ustaz Hosny Guindy, the founding editor-in-chief of Al-Ahram Weekly, who happened to be his next-door neighbour. She visited Dr Mursi regularly, especially when he was bed-ridden for the last two weeks of his wonderful life. “Even before the paper was officially founded we, my late husband and I and Dr Mursi, met regularly either in his apartment in Heliopolis or ours. We planned ahead and he had no desire for an official position. We simply exchanged ideas”. Madame Mouchira and her late husband knew Dr Mursi and his late wife Enayat or “Auntie Anouna”, Mrs Saad Al-Din, as she was known since her days as principal of the prestigious English School in Heliopolis, since they moved into the apartment block they shared ever since 1970. Those early days opened up the possibility of kariology, those precious twinkling hints of eternity. Now with Dr Mursi's passing they are memories magically redeemed. Dr Mursi is gone, his wife Enayat Talaat, too, as well as Ustaz Hosni. But Madame Moushira and Menna, Dr Mursi's granddaughter, remember the good old days. Menna, who lives in October City, a satellite city of Cairo, had the habit of spending the weekends with her beloved grandfather. Gamal Nkrumah
