Al-Ahram Weekly was a momentous opportunity for a generation of reporters to explore and start life-long careers in English language journalism. We were guided by inspiring, nurturing and formidable professionals who recognised our potential — even when we had no idea what we could accomplish. It was all very rudimentary in the beginning, compared to today's resources and climate, but the world was our oyster and we embraced it wholeheartedly. A few months before the Weekly hit the newsstands on 28 February 1991, a team of senior journalists from the flagship Al-Ahram Arabic daily interviewed and recruited reporters and editors to staff this new “English-language newspaper from an Egyptian perspective”. A dozen or so reporters were chosen, mostly a group of fresh-out-of-college hopefuls who were proficient in English but had almost no journalism experience except, perhaps, a degree in mass communication from the American University in Cairo or Cairo University. With enthusiasm, camaraderie and constant encouragement, we roamed the streets, read newspapers, followed the news and were let loose to get on with reporting. The ethics of the business were drummed into us over and over again: the importance of adding “colour” to a story by telling it in an attractive way, be relentless in investigating the story, and don't miss your deadline. The pay was absurd, but no one actually goes into journalism with the aim of striking it rich. Moral recognition and support was our goal — and a verdict better than “fine” from senior editors. We did get a two-day weekend, groundbreaking for Al-Ahram at the time, and were on call at all times. There were always volunteers for hard assignments, such as travelling to Upper Egypt during the terrorism wave of the 1990s when Weekly reporters were caught in the middle of a gunfight outside Malawi, but escaped unharmed. As reporters gained experience, we were specialised into “beats” and were given many opportunities to grow and explore. There was plenty of travel inside and outside Egypt to cover major events and visits. We had access to resources, worked with seasoned photographers at Al-Ahram, and had the use of its drivers, in their signature black Fiats, to whisk us to our next assignment. Twenty-five years on and many budget cuts later, it is quicker and more convenient to take yourself to an assignment, and to use your smartphone to take pictures. Overseas travel for work is almost non-existent. Anyway, everything is now broadcast everywhere. In the beginning, there were obstacles, of course. For starters, identifying ourselves to sources or the man-on-the-street was sometimes a test of endurance. Al-Ahram Weekly, essentially targeting English speakers around the world, as well as expats, foreign missions, Egyptian intellectuals and policy makers in Egypt, was not your everyday newspaper. The Al-Ahram brand name, however, usually sufficed to get us through the door — although the average citizen sometimes thought we were called “Al-Ahram Quickly”. Today, the Weekly is an established newspaper along with Al-Ahram's dozen or so publications on the market. Building a formidable list of contacts also took many years. At the beginning, senior staff at the newspaper were essential in helping us contact important sources, but as we specialised into beats and subjects, the painstaking process of establishing our own network of sources became the jewel of our journalism career. Today, it seems much easier to find, connect and communicate with a source, especially since there are many more who are willing to comment and speak their mind. If he doesn't answer his cell phone, text him. If you don't have his number, contact him via social media. If you have no idea, Google him. It is no longer necessary to pore over yellowing pages from Al-Ahram's grand archives to research a topic or someone's background: they most likely have their own website or an entry on Wikipedia. In fact, some of the Weekly staff have themselves become sources and established commentators. These once doe-eyed junior street reporters all started with enthusiasm and energy, with the support of a steadfast, nurturing team of professionals. The chief editor, managing editor and section editors were established journalists with many years of experience, mostly at Al-Ahram or news agencies. To ensure excellence in an English-language newspaper — with The Guardian and The Independent as models — the Weekly adopted British spelling from the start and hired mostly Britons or British-educated Egyptians for the Central Desk. These copy editors fine-tuned articles to make them pitch perfect. In today's world, copy editors sitting in one room is not the Weekly's style. Most are not based in the office, or even the country. Another evolution was the weekly staff meeting on Saturday. Initially an exclusive gathering of senior staff to decide on content, the meeting is now open to all 50 or so of the staff, each of whom may want to suggest, discuss or just listen. The Weekly began operations with its staff of 15 or so divided between two sizeable rooms on the fourth and seventh floors of Al-Ahram's headquarters on Galaa Street. Reporters travelled up and down, in and out of these rooms, talked on landlines, and huddled at lunchtime in the restaurant on the 12th floor where waiters in blue and golden robes served delicious food at subsidised prices. In 1993, a twin Al-Ahram building was built next to the 1968 original, connected by a glass passageway straddling a side street to ensure convenience and connectivity. The Weekly was one of the first publications to move into the new quarters, and almost each section finally had its own room, with upgraded facilities, phones, computers, desks and wire-service machines. For many years, “the tickers” were the go-to for late-breaking news as deadlines approached. The machines of Associated Press, Agence France-Presse and the Middle East News Agency emitted a long and loud beep when important news alerts were being delivered. Stop the press! Today, of course, a news alert on your phone, constant news coverage on television, or a quick search online for the latest updates makes it very unlikely you would miss anything. Back then we typed our stories on clunky metal typewriters, making quite a raucous as we hammered away, typing up our stories, which were then edited by hand and sent to “typesetting”. Typesetters sat in a cold dark room typing green letters on a black screen, making sure to include paragraph and indentation notations, and then printing out long rolls of bromide that layout technicians would cut up with a box cutter and delicately glue onto broadsheet slabs. On Wednesday nights the chief editor, proof readers, typesetters, layout staff and technicians gathered on the third floor to complete the magic and paste the newspaper before it was sent to the printing machines in the room next door. Munching on fuul and falafel sandwiches, sipping Al-Ahram's exquisite lemonade and feeding the handful of cats wandering the corridors, the process would take us into the wee hours of Thursday. Finally, the newspaper was put to bed and a few hours later it was on newsstands. The maquette was all important, as layout editors took pencil, ruler and eraser to design the page on broadsheet paper, adeptly calculating how many words would fit in a centimetre and where the pictures would go. Today, layout is done quickly on screen, without the need for drafts. If something doesn't look good, a click of a button changes the design. This cuts down on time, but layout staff aren't off the hook once their pages go to print: they have to spend a few more hours formatting their pages to prepare them for the online edition, which is made available on Friday morning for anyone who did not pick up a hardcopy on Thursday. Lifelong friendships were formed during staff trips and celebrations and, most importantly, lunches at the newspaper on Tuesdays and Wednesdays: Al-Hati grill with grape leaves and pickles or make-your-own sandwich feasts with bread, cheese, falafel, fuul and fresh vegetables. Until today, there are Ramadan potlucks on Tuesdays so we can break fast without interrupting the workflow. For a quarter of a century, opportunity, circumstance and technology have impacted how the Weekly does business. Some things are gone forever (like the blue-robed waiters), but the world today needs a journalist to be always connected, on the ball and on the go. Like everything else, the process, dynamic and speed of how the Weekly operates have indeed changed — but these are just signs of the times.
