Nehad Selaiha finds the El-Sawy Cultural Centre a dream come true It takes a truly inventive mind to create something at once so simple and so original as Al-Saqia. As Cairo rapidly turned into a multi-storey capital, the old Zamalek bridge was replaced by the 15th May flyover, with an exist leading down to the Zamalek section of 26 July street. The sloping exit created a huge, tunnel- shaped space underneath which was left derelict for a long time until Mohamed El-Sawy, a businessman who owns an advertising agency, stepped on the scene. It was slowly turning into a rat-infested rubbish dump and a night resort for drug addicts, he says. Suddenly, a brilliant idea flashed into his head and he took it to the governor of Giza and did not leave his office until he had secured the use of the space. The idea was to provide densely populated Giza with another, much-needed cultural centre, but one which was new of its kind -- a strictly non-governmental cultural centre untrammelled by the usual bureaucracy. That such an idea could occur to a successful businessman may seem a bit odd; most Egyptian businessmen do not go in for culture. El-Sawy, however, is no ordinary, run-of-the-mill businessman. As the son of Abdel-Moneim El-Sawy, a well-known novelist and former minister of culture under Sadat, he is no stranger to the cultural scene. It was partly to keep the memory of his father alive that he thought of this project, calling it Al-Saqia (The Waterwheel) after the title of a famous trilogy of novels by El- Sawy senior. It was an original variation on an old Egyptian/Islamic custom, known as sadaqah gareyah (a running charity), which can take various forms, one of which is putting up a public drinking fountain ( sabeel ) on a busy thoroughfare and dedicating it to a beloved dead person by way of invoking mercy on his/her soul. Partly intending it as a running charity, Mohamed El-Sawy generously poured money into his cultural waterwheel, roping in another private sponsor, and in the space of a year managed to transform this once dark, unprepossessing area under the bridge into a clean, culture-friendly environment where visitors can enjoy concerts, lectures, films, poetry readings, theatrical performances and art exhibitions and have access to a modern, well-stocked library in return for a modest annual subscription or at easily affordable admission fees. Run by a bunch of cheerful young people in jeans and T shirts, with no scowling officials or forbidding security men anywhere in sight, the place has a relaxed, friendly atmosphere which makes all visitors, whatever their social class, age or attire, feel welcome and quite at home. This spirit of camaraderie is the visible expression of the underlying conception of the place as a cultural drinking fountain for all -- in other words, a democratic, cultural meeting ground where visitors are encouraged to be producers as well as consumers of culture and budding or amateur artists can stage or exhibit their work side by side with well-known figures, popular stars and top professionals. One evening this month (1 May) I found Abdu Dagher giving a concert of Sufi music in one of the centre's two halls -- auspiciously christened Al- Kalima (The Word) and Al-Hikma (Wisdom) -- while in the other a young artist (Nasser Abdel-Hafiz) was making his debut as playwright and director with a sardonic satire on army life and military regimes called Kidba wi Addet (A Lie that Passed). Another evening (5 May), an oud concert by Amir Mohamed Moussa was in full swing while next door a new director, by the name of Mohamed Fikry, was staging his Dramatic Symphony, an adaptation of Maxim Gorky's The Lower Depths, with a group of amateur actors. The following evening, another play, The Clown, introduced me to Mohamed Ali, a young director I had never heard of before, and two evenings later (8 May), the programme featured a concert of classical music by Nina Rahmanov's string quartet and, in the other hall, A Debate on the Edge, a new play by a young writer called Mohamed Abul-Ela, directed by Hossam Kandil -- both newcomers to the theatre scene. If this is not real artistic democracy, what is? I have already watched five new plays at Al-Saqia since the beginning of this month and before it is out I will have watched another four. With the exception of Miret's Details, a delightfully poetic, sensitively lighted dance and movement adaptation of Marguerite Duras's novel, L'Amant, with a few interspersed monologues and projections of old photographs, which I had watched at the French Cultural Centre a few months ago, all the productions are new and one doubts if any of them would have seen the light without this new and valuable venue. Both Al- Kalima and Al-Hikma halls are fitted to serve as theatres and sufficiently equipped to provide adequate sound and lighting. And though Al-Saqia does not sponsor productions or provide free rehearsal space, it is willing to host any show almost unconditionally and for free. A couple of young people with some experience in theatre receive the applications, find out what the play is roughly about, and unless it has something as pronouncedly taboo as complete nudity or open sacrilege, they get busy finding a slot for it on the programme. The production team are given the use of one of the two theatres for a whole day from morning till midnight and Al-Saqia's resident stage-manager is always at hand in case they need her help or advice; and not only do they not pay anything for this, they also share the modest proceeds of the box office with Al-Saqia on a 50/50 basis. What the groups get from the ticket sales covers part of the production costs; what Al-Saqia gets goes towards the maintenance of the place and technical equipment. Admittedly, some of the productions leave a lot to be desired and some are downright artistically primitive, which has led some critics to urge Mohamed El-Sawy to be more selective and, since he is no theatre specialist, employ an "artistic committee". I am not sure this is such a good idea. Aesthetic considerations are all very well but they are not everything in theatre. In the case of the Gorky adaptation I mentioned earlier or The Other Face (performed on 14 May and featuring a ward in a lunatic asylum and a variety of social and moral ailments), for instance, both plainly amateurish in every respect and guaranteed to give even the most tolerant of critics many a painful twinge, the auditorium was packed and the performance seemed to draw energy and vitality from the warm applause of the audience and their boisterous enthusiasm. On both occasions the audience, you could easily tell, consisted mostly of the actors' families, neighbours and friends and represented every possible age group, from squealing babies to doddering old men. As they laughed and cheered, seemed to enjoy everything they saw, to thrill to the most tawdry of stage effects and to revel in the presence of the actors on stage, I became infected and dropped all my critical defences. It was an instance of theatre as a festive occasion, a real, communal celebration, a kind of carnival, if you like, and to enjoy it I was willing to sacrifice many an aesthetic criterion. Besides, to bar beginners in theatre from Al-Saqia would be tantamount to nipping many talents in the bud. Just as people or birds need a space in which to learn to walk or fly, new actors, playwrights and directors need a stage on which to try out their abilities and discover their weaknesses. Rather than pay an artistic committee to sit in judgement on hopeful theatre-makers, Al-Saqia could invest in workshops that train people in different theatrical skills. This way it can help its young members improve the artistic quality of their work without losing its distinctive character as a genuinely democratic space where such spaces are in short supply. I would hate the day to come when I look at a programme of Al-Saqia and not find such names as Fathy Salama, Sattuna or Ahmed Fouad Nigm printed side by side with names that never appeared in print anywhere before.
