Amira El-Noshokaty interviews a master collector of memory "The Greek word for return is nostos. Algos means suffering. So nostalgia is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return..." -- Milan Kundera's Ignorance The older a publication, the more charming the musty scent of its paper, the faded colours on its once glossy covers, the improbable dates it displays. Time hones and raises the value of anything, and when it comes to an Um Kulthoum concert brochure, a headline about Gamal Abdel-Nasser's funeral or an announcement of the new racing season in Alexandria -- the caption reads, "Ahmed Aboud Pasha awarded the Cup by his Royal Highness Prince Omar Tosson." Film press books that were distributed at movie premiers bringing back to the limelight the golden era of Egyptian film industry where stars like Soad Hosni and Rushdi Abaza were the headlines. The possibilities are endless when you walk into that minute shop, heaving with authentic publications. Mohamed Sadeq, the proprietor, is appropriately proud: "I preserve and trade in anything related to knowledge and culture, so long as it comes on paper, from theatre tickets to film posters, musical notation, newspapers and books, whatever comes in paper..." Distinct from some 130 second-hand bookshops in Azbakia in that he only deals in genuine rare publications, this charismatic man started out in Al-Azhar, where his father relocated from Darb Al-Gamamiz. As a young man Sadeq would peruse his father's collection without much interest, looking for religious titles. One day he happened to pick up a book on the history of Egyptian media in 100 years, and the importance of his father's business suddenly hit him: "Publications are as important as the things they document, for they make up a record of our lives -- our history. There were about 66 newspapers in Egypt and I've been striving to collect all of them, at least their first issues." Sadeq became passionate about rare books libraries, including what private collections he could gain access to. And his customers, whether buyers or sellers, proved numerous: an invaluable collection of old prints, while affording its owner that necessary bit of extra cash, made irresistible commodities for present-day researchers and collectors. His customers have included, to mention but a few, Arab embassies, notably Saudi Arabia, the Ministry of Interior and filmmaker Marian Khoury, for her documentary Ashikat Al-Cinema (Cinema Lovers). And Sadeq has nurtured a reputation for the meticulous care he takes of his material: he has often spent a whole night restoring and compiling. "I've kept and preserved every single issue of every magazine or newspaper published since Egyptian media was born. I was once approached by lawyers who wanted a specific issue of a newspaper from the 1930s, and thanks to it they won a very high-profile endowment case. In the past 50 years not much has changed, but the records were closer to the truth then than they are now. Maybe this is due to the rise of materialist values. In the past there was better commitment and communication," Sadeq pauses. "Newspapers -- I neither throw them out nor eat on them. They are documents that I cherish..." Like second-hand booksellers of the time, Sadeq's business flourished along the fence of the Azbakia gardens in the 1940s. When the underground construction forced everyone to Darrasa, it was catastrophic: "We were in front of the morgue, adjacent to drug dealers. Customers were scared away. Thanks to the intellects of Egypt, who lobbied for us, we were back in Azbakia by the 1990s." A precarious state, this: rumour has it there may be another enforced move as underground lines are expanded. Be that as it may, Sadeq, who participates along with the Azbakia booksellers in the Cairo International Book Fair, was resentful of the Africa Cup this year, since it kept customers away from the fair grounds. Unlike publishing houses, he points out, Azbakia booksellers are never compensated for such losses, for they sell at significantly lower prices (LE1-4 on average) and must pay LE1,750 to rent out fair grounds space during the fair, on top of the cost of setting up tents and booths. Sales peaked in the wake of the 1973 October War, Sadeq remembers, speaking of the resurgence of a sense of belonging that had ebbed away after the 1967 defeat. New parties came into being, and with them new publications; and people were eager to dig into their history. The 1990s saw the greatest fall in sales yet, with satellite television and Internet taking over. "Today cinema publications sell the most, books must rank lowest in sales," Sadeq says with evident distress. Yet the bookseller has kept his standards, refusing to sell his valuable wares except to those who know how to treat them, not those who tear them up for the photos -- for example. "There is a huge difference between authentic publications and copies," he explains, squinting. "The original has the value of its age."
