As the Sakakini Palace marks its 106th birthday and the courts officially declare it a national antiquity, Yasmine El-Rashidi delves into its history A villa, like its owner, has a history -- often elusive, often contested. The history of Sakakini Palace is intricate. Perhaps, as is often recounted in literary material, a home is a reflection of its owner. As one historian wrote, the Sakakini story is a "rags to riches" tale. Sakakini Palace was the creation of Habib Sakakini Pasha (1841-1923) -- a businessman of Levantine descent whose family immigrated to Egypt at the beginning of the 19th century. Sakakini arrived in Port Said from Damascus at 16, as uncovered by historian Samir Raafat through his archival research. "According to Moufarej," Raafat wrote of Tewfic Moufarej's writing in Al-Lata'ef Al-Masreya's 18 June 1923 issue, "this saga started when Gabriel Habib Sakakini arrived from Damascus aged 16 to take on a job with the nascent Suez Canal Company in Port Said." Sakakini moved to Cairo about four years later, putting down his roots in the once mosquito-infested marshland where his Rococo-renaissance villa stands today. The details of his transformation into a gentleman of great fortune elude most acquainted with his former home. The documents tell one tale, and the local experts another. "His grandfather was a weapons dealer," offers Awad Shawqy, an antiquities inspector currently overseeing restoration work on the palace. "He dealt with swords," he says. "They were of Syrian origin, and immigrated to Egypt before Habib was born. They lived in the faggala area, and Habib was born here. He only moved to Suez for business later in his life." The reality is unclear, and the only person venturing into the "perhaps" of Sakakini's documented economic transformation is Raafat himself, who wrote in an article lobbying for the restoration of the villa in 1997: "Legend has it that Habib Sakakini attracted Khedive Ismail's attention when he exported by Camel Express sacks full of famished cats to the rat-infested Suez Canal Zone. Within days, the rodent epidemic was resolved. Quick to recognise inventiveness and initiative, the khedive made good use of the shrewd Syrian, giving him the daunting task of completing the Khedival Opera House." While hard evidence of the details of the transformation elude even the younger generations of Sakakini's descendants, the gentleman, it is clear, blossomed into one of the country's most recognised contractors. "That's how he got this land," says inspector Shawqy, as he walks through the main ballroom of the palace. "He was a big contractor, and was given this land as a sort of gift." Shawqy's initial resistance to welcome the journalistic troupe into the palace dissolves completely as he begins to talk about how the palace came to creation. "You hear lots of stories," he says. "But fact is that Habib Pasha was in Europe -- France, I believe -- when he came across a palace which he fell in love with. He hired the international Italian company that built it, and commissioned them to create a replica here. And this is it." The exact location of the original is not documented, and relatives -- including a grandson in Italy, Ricardo -- are equally at a loss regarding the mother palace. "This style, Rococo, is common of the time in Europe," Shawqy explains. "If you go to Italy or France you will see similar architectural façades," he continues, "But the original, we don't know exactly where it is." The interior of the palace still shines in its grandeur. The intricately laid parquet floors are suffocated with dust, and the paint in some places is peeling off the walls. In the main entrance -- embossed with Habib Sakakini's initials -- the hospital green paint is coming off in sheets. "The green of course is not original paint," Shawqy says. "The reason why the palace is in the condition it is," he continues, waving his arm to the fading surroundings, "is because for some years now a part of it has been a medical museum." The stillness of the vast room is accentuated, and Shawqy breaks it with a spontaneous and sarcastic laugh. "Since the 80s there's been a court case against the Ministry of Health," Shawqy says, explaining himself. "This palace finally got recognised as a national antiquity. We can finally start work on it. It was ridiculous that it was the property of the Ministry of Health! When Habib Sakakini passed away, the ownership title was dispersed among the benefactors. Eventually the family gave the property to the government, but one of Sakakini's grandson's gave his share to the Ministry of Health. He was a doctor and it was his way of contributing to the profession." The remains of its medical association are clear -- cracks in the ceilings, disfigured fixtures and a dulling coat of dust and dirt on every inch of every room. "It's not realistic that they would maintain it," Shawqy says of the ministry. "It's not their job. It's not their specialty." The condition of the palace has been an issue of debate amongst historians and conservationists for years -- the community voicing their concern at its dilapidation, and their dismay at the nation's disregard of the monument as an architectural structure of invaluable national heritage. In 1997, Raafat -- the mind behind the "Adopt a Monument" campaign -- fought to put the palace in the spotlight. "According to the inscription above the Western entrance, the palace was built in 1897, which means this is its centennial year," Raafat wrote in 1997. "One wanders, therefore, why such a rare piece of architectural kitsch is in such an advanced state of neglect?" Under Law 178 of 1961 -- which stipulates that all buildings, villas or monuments of architectural value or rarity become antiquities upon turning one hundred -- Sakakini Palace was destined, six years ago, for the professional care of the nation's restorers. "But sometimes strange things happen!" laughs Shawqy. "It has taken this long for the courts to declare the palace an antiquity." The final decision is one clearly indisputable. Despite its faded exterior and dishevelled grounds, the palace looms amidst its Al-Zaher neighbours -- a district of older, shabbier, sardine-stacked buildings. The palace's locale -- at the crossroads of major roadways -- was strategically chosen by Sakakini Pasha. As Raafat wrote, "Henceforth, all roads led to Sakakini Palace. The lord of the manor liked to be at the center of things." The palace indeed looks whimsical -- the castle one expects to find atop a hill. Its circular stature is adorned with turrets, domes and steeples. Mediaeval-looking structures and statues adorn its various corners and levels. "Architecturally the structure is invaluable," Shawqy reflects as we tour the grounds. Perhaps not the taste aesthetically suited to the modern-day eye, the palace is visibly an architectural masterpiece. "When you look from the outside, for example," Shawqy offers, "you wouldn't think it is so big inside." While the palace does seemingly loom, the exterior is deceptively containing, keeping from the passerby the reality of an expansive -- seemingly endless, really -- interior. Housed within the neglected walls are 50 rooms and halls with over 400 windows and doors, and a décor boasting over 300 busts and statues. In 1997, the palace's centennial year, historian Raafat wrote in his campaign to protect the palace: "In Miami, Florida, or any other place, Sakakini palace would have become a shrine. Here, it is a dumping ground. Ever since it became state property in 1961, the palace fell into chronic disrepair, not unlike that which befell the surrounding neighborhood." The neighbourhood remains in its state of so- described "chronic disrepair", but the palace, at last, appears to have found its saving day. "The phase we are in now is called the assessment phase," explains Shawqy. "With a palace like this -- or any antiquity really -- you don't just come in and start restoring straight away. You need to document everything. The condition of the building is assessed, the condition of the foundations are looked at, the condition of the wood is looked at. We document the paintings, the engravings, the external structures. Every single thing is taken into account and documented in detail. Once the building as a whole is assessed, and its current condition and structures are documented, then we can begin the restoration assessment requirements, put together a comprehensive plan, and start work. It's a long process." Historians fear, of course, that the process will drag on, and that Sakakini Palace will remain a year too long in its current state of disrepair. The centennial christening of the palace should have marked the start of its pampering as a monument significant to the nation's heritage. But it took six years just to acknowledge its status. Will it take another six for the real restoration work to begin? The resolution awaits to be seen, but the present scenario on the grounds of the palace signals the prospect of relief for anxious historians -- and perhaps for Sakakini Pasha himself, who now rests inside the crypt of his Byzantine-style Mar Elias Church. To this day, prayers are held there each week officiated by the leading clergy of the Greek Malachite Catholics. "He can now," says Shawqy, smiling, "rest in peace."
