Samir Raafat remembers the late princess Neslishah, descendant of a 600-year-old dynasty and former first lady of Egypt, during her 40-day memorial service in Istanbul Born in Istanbul's elegant district of Nishantashi, princess Neslishah died peacefully in April in her Bosphorus-side villa in nearby Ortakoy. In the years since her birth in 1921, republican Turkey had become reconciled with its imperial Ottoman past, such that the passing of the last surviving member of the former ruling dynasty born before its demise did not go unnoticed. On the contrary, the departed sultana received glowing tributes from the nation's president, its head of government, its parliament, and, most importantly, her countrymen. Many regarded Neslishah as a potent symbol of both the temporal and the divine. Her maternal grandfather was sultan Wahideddin, the 36th and last Ottoman ruler, while her maternal grandfather, Abdel-Mejid, was the last caliph of the vast Islamic community. In a Turkey that is currently witnessing an Ottoman revival, Neslishah Sultan was considered the acknowledged descendant of a 600-year-old dynasty that once controlled the Mediterranean, half of Europe, the entire Near East and beyond. She was of the same bloodline as Sultan Mohamed Al-Fatih and Suleiman the Magnificent, implied Turkish Prime Minister Recep Tayyip Erdogan when giving a speech to a parliamentary gathering in Ankara the day she died. On the other hand, in an Egypt that is undergoing another turbulent period in its modern history, only some remaining octogenarians remember Al-Amira Neslishah, the nation's glamorous first lady of 1952-3. Few now recall when, in the 1940s, Neslishah's photographs were on the front pages of Egyptian and foreign magazines, which rightly described her as one of the most beautiful women in the world. Together with her two younger sisters, both married to Egyptian princes, they formed a glamorous trio, turning heads whenever they appeared at charity events or fundraising balls. Princess Neslishah married prince Abdel-Moneim Abbas Hilmi, the son of Egypt's last khedive, in 1941. But since history is often arbitrary, Abdel-Moneim, rather than assuming the throne legitimately, found himself third in line of succession to the throne in view of his father's forced exile in December 1914. Another comparable exile would, however, thrust the prince to the forefront of political events when he was unexpectedly appointed head of the regency council following the abdication of king Farouk on 23 July 1952. For the next nine months, Abdel-Moneim, acting as regent, and his imperial-born consort were the official symbols of the monarchy's last days in Egypt. However, even before this regency period, princess Abdel-Moneim's work schedule went far beyond ribbon-cutting ceremonies and command performances at the Cairo Opera House. There was also her demanding volunteer work at the Red Crescent, the Mubarra (state hospitals), the Children's Welfare Association and other such humanitarian societies. Yet, these gruelling, back-to-back functions did not seem to deter the princess one bit. Educated in rigorous schools in the south of France and chaperoned as a teenager by a practical German governess, martial discipline was second nature to the eldest daughter of the leading Ottoman officer-prince. When Egypt was declared a republic in 1953, the Abdel-Moneims were forced into retirement and social oblivion. It would be years before Neslishah made the headlines again, this time in an altogether different context. In a poignant twist of events the real test was yet to come, evidencing the fact that she was not just a beautiful cover-story princess, but was also indeed made of the same mettle as her conquering ancestors. Many people who lived through that period will be able to testify that princess Neslishah's finest hour did not come when she was Egypt's first lady, but rather took place when she stood stoically by her Ottoman cousin shehzade (imperial prince) Mahmoud Namuk, who was accused by the Nasser regime of attempting to instigate a royalist coup aimed at toppling the rais. The words "death penalty" for Namuk and his accomplices quickly circulated in the corridors of power. Throughout prince Namuk's sensational 1957 trial, screaming newspaper headlines made the princess out to be some kind of lady Macbeth figure, "wanting to place her teenage son on the throne" of Egypt come what may. It was as if Egypt's new military regime was ready to see a bogeyman in every remaining member of the former royal family, starting with the family of the ex-regent. The result was that prince Namuk received a 15-year jail sentence in absentia and the Abdel-Moneims were put under surveillance, a razor's edge away from house arrest. Thus, the former regent and his wife became social pariahs. But, as might be expected of a princess with six centuries of imperial breeding behind her, Neslishah bravely weathered the storm. With a son studying in London and a young daughter to look after, life had to go on as normally as it could under the circumstances. However, the flare-up did not pass quietly, and in 1958 prince Namuk was apprehended in Baghdad and sent to Egypt, courtesy of the military junta that had brutally brought down Iraq's Hashemite monarchy. The media had a field day, and once again the princess was dragged into the storm. An unflinching Neslishah Sultan soon appeared at Namuk's new trial to answer accusatory questions from the Nasser regime's judges. This time around, the Ottoman prince had no recourse, and Namuk was re-sentenced and sent to the Tora Prison. For the princess, the choice now facing her was probably the most difficult in her life so far: either to leave Egypt behind and start her life again somewhere in Europe, or to stay behind and stand by her cousin in his hour of need. The first choice was an experience she knew well, as her own family had been deported from Turkey in 1924 when Turkish strongman Mustafa Kemal declared a republic. It was a case of d��j�-vu when another strongman, this time Egyptian, attempted to displace her from her adopted country. Duty won the day. Throughout his period in jail, Namuk was comforted by a tireless Neslishah. Since her ageing father, shehzade Omar Farouk, had retired to Alexandria, Neslishah had assumed the role of head of the imperial Ottoman family in Egypt. Undeterred by the Nasser regime's mukhabarat (secret service) and facing possible detention, she made the rounds of lawyers, trying to assemble new evidence to counter the state's claims of wrongdoing. Every other week, she appeared at the gates of the Tora Prison for a brief visit to the fallen prince. On 13 November 1961, the dreaded phone call came. Neslishah was requested to take custody of prince Namuk's body. He had allegedly succumbed to a heart attack in prison. How wretchedly ironic it was that, having been wrapped in priceless fabrics as a newborn prince in Istanbul's Dolmabahce Palace, 50 years later the body of prince Namuk should have been handed over to his next of kin enveloped in a shabby government-issue bedcover in Tora south of Cairo. No one came to Namuk's funeral save for princess Neslishah and a few loyal friends. Even her sisters were absent, having early on chosen the path of exile. "This was definitely Neslishah Sultan's finest hour," exclaimed Yehia Aref Bey, who was present throughout the ordeal. Both a close friend of the imperial Ottoman family and dean of the dwindling Turkish community in Cairo, Aref Bey knew of what he talked. Decades later, in 2010, these extreme days were recounted in Neslisah, a 400-page bestseller authored by Turkey's leading historian Murat Bardaksh, a befitting tribute to the then 89-year-old princess. Even though Neslishah Sultan relocated to Istanbul in the late 1960s, Egypt was never far from her heart, as the author of this article found out last December when the princess celebrated her daughter's birthday. Despite being confined to a wheelchair, the sultana had lost nothing of her former splendour and graciousness. Her apprehensive parting comment could not have been more a propos. "I am very worried about Egypt and pray with all my heart that all goes well. Regime changes can be very complicated," she said. Said by a lady who had been a victim of two revolutions and multiple exiles, princess Neslishah Sultan certainly knew just how difficult and complicated they could be. Today, the former first lady of Egypt lies next to her mother and her two sisters in a romantic hill-top cemetery overlooking the Bosphorus. She is survived by a son, prince Abbas Hilmi, and a daughter, princess Ikbal, and her two grandchildren, Dawoud and Sabiha. The writer is a journalist and author of Cairo, the Glory Years and Maadi 1904-1962: Society and History in a Cairo Suburb.
