A Cairo district that once sold wood and timber is now dealing in pots and pans and risks losing its historic charm, says Mohamed Mursi Close to the intersection of Port Said and Al-Azhar streets in Cairo is an old neighbourhood that was once famous for its wood and timber trade. Darb Saada, or Happiness Lane, is chockfull of monuments that bear witness to its glorious past. Although close to the capital's popular tourist sites, Khan Al-Khalili and Al-Azhar, Darb Saada has never made it into the big league of sightseeing tours. Occasionally, a tourist stumbles upon the narrow lane, guidebook in hand, to admire the six-century-old Gamea Al-Banat (Women's Mosque) or the mediaeval dome of Hossameddin Toran. But only individuals venture this far, rarely tour groups. In fact, artists seem to be more interested in the area than tourists. A few years ago, Asmaa El-Bakri made a film about the neighbourhood. Co-starring Naglaa Fathi and Salah El-Saadani, the film, The Darb Saada Concerto, described life in what was once the heart of mediaeval Cairo, speculating on the impact of modernisation on the locals. As the film amply shows, things are changing in Darb Saada. The main business of the district is dying out, and a neighbourhood that once featured one timber shop after another is today switching gears. Instead of selling wooden planks and beams, today the area is dabbling in knives and forks, pots and blenders, and teacups and strainers. With every timber shop that closes down, a sense of loss is felt throughout the neighbourhood. The inhabitants bemoan the changes, saying that wood was a venerable trade and one suitable to the centuries-old architecture of the neighbourhood. Teacups and plastic trays don't quite make the cut. The traders are also saddened by the loss of their heritage. Some say that the timber trade complemented the Sufi spirit of the neighbourhood, with household goods being a step down. Some of the inhabitants want the state to preserve the aesthetic and historic nature of the lane. While the Ministry of Culture has acted to preserve some of the monuments in the area, they say, no one is doing anything to reverse the downhill path of the once-thriving timber trade. Why is the timber trade dying? The answers have to do with the economic situation. The Egyptian market cannot run to importing expensive types of wood, and the narrow profit margins on cheaper varieties cannot keep the shops running. As a result, many traders are selling their shops, or switching businesses to sell kitchenware and appliances. Mustafa Abdallah is one of the oldest traders in the district, and in his view the timber business started heading south in the late 1990s. Because of the recession, importers started buying inferior types of wood, and the business as a whole suffered. Abdallah specialises in oak, and he is having trouble keeping his business open. Merchants from Upper Egypt are now buying shops from former timber traders, offering the equivalent of $100,000 per shop to entice owners to sell. They then take the shops over and set them up as outlets for household appliances and kitchenware. Gamal Ismail, another timber trader, says that the market has been suffering from the poor quality of imports. He blames the importers, saying that by opting for low-quality wood, they have harmed the trade. Since Darb Saada is also close to Al-Manasra, the furniture workshop area across the street, a domino effect may also be at play. If Darb Saada goes down, then Al-Manasra too will suffer. Another local merchant, Ahmed Rashad, used to sell timber before he shifted to household supplies. He is not thrilled with the change. While the new trade is more profitable, he admits, the neighbourhood as a whole is losing much of its historic charm. Rashad would like the authorities to close Al-Azhar Street to traffic, so that more tourists would come to the area. He doesn't say that he'd rather sell souvenirs to tourists than pots and pans to locals, but that seems to be the drift of his words.
