A second-generation photographer in Port Said, Saad Abbas has been taking photographs since the British occupation and the German war, says Osama Kamal Saad is a second-generation photographer. His father, Abbas, started out in life working for the oil company Shell, but he was fired for hitting his boss, a British national given to making profane hand gestures, and set his sights on becoming a photographer instead. Back then, photography in Egypt was dominated by foreigners, mostly Armenians. However, luck was on his side. Abbas had access to a warehouse where a travelling Armenian photographer kept his gear during journeys abroad, and as a result he was able to practise his photography by using the gear, not necessarily with the permission of its owner. By the time the Armenian had come back to town permanently, Abbas had become an accomplished photographer. Impressed with his diligence, the Armenian donated his old photographic equipment to the eager Abbas. This act of generosity helped Abbas start a professional career, even if other Armenian photographers, unhappy to see this intruder in their trade, tried to push him out of business. Abbas retaliated by teaching the trade to other Egyptians, and it wasn't long before Egyptian photographers outnumbered Armenian. According to Saad, his father was an inventor as well as a self-made man, adding a device to his camera that allowed him to take photographs in quick succession, a feature that was not available at the time. Saad and his four brothers all learned the photographic trade from their father. Now aged 84, he still uses his father's techniques, he says. Saad still uses a camera he swears has been in his possession since the "the War with the Germans," a reference to the Second World War. When he was just 14, his father allowed him to take professional photographs, and, to encourage him to stay in the trade, he allowed Saad to keep the money he made from the work -- imagine the incentive this represented to a teenager in the early 1940s. The family shop was on Mohammed Ali Street in the best part of town. Now frail and a little hard of hearing, Saad wears thick glasses and speaks slowly. It takes him time to put his thoughts together, but when he does the memories come through loud and clear. Saad's grandfather, Ali, for example, came from Upper Egypt to work in one of the coal companies in Port Said. Coal was as crucial then as oil is now, Saad says. "All the ships going through the Canal ran on coal back then," he remarks, referring to the turn of the last century before ships began to use oil. The family came into a little money when Saad's father got a job with the British-run police force, his role being to take a photograph of every single recruit. "My father made a fortune, but ended up spending it all in Cairo going to nightclubs," Saad chuckles. For his part, Saad stayed in Port Said, photographing members of the city's elite and foreigners working at Gate 8 of the harbour, which was the one foreign employees of the Suez Canal Company used. He also used to walk about the city, taking photographs of Pasha Park, Fouad Street, the Casino Palace, the Britannia Club, Abu Zahra and Haret al-Rum, all areas in the Hayy Al-Afrang where foreigners and rich Egyptians lived. Local people, mostly working class, lived in Hayy Al-Arab and Al-Manakh. Most of the places Saad photographed are long gone now, with the Port Said court building and telephone exchange occupying the place where Pasha Park used to be. However, though the places might have gone, they continue to exist in Saad's memory. He still recalls the loveliness of Pasha Park, and how the governor used to stroll through it in his elegant white suit. Live music was played at the park all day long, Saad says. Later, Saad photographed many of the rich and famous of the time, including president Gamal Abdel-Nasser and singer-composer Mohamed Abdel-Wahab. He used to keep such pictures in a box with his camera, displaying them to the public as a form of advertising. Unfortunately, over the years these rare pictures were either lost, damaged by the sun, or taken by discerning, but not always very scrupulous, clientele. The camera Saad most often uses today is the one he bought in the 1940s from a Jewish supplier called Barok, who let him buy it on installments. It cost him four pounds, a fortune at the time. Saad has used many other cameras over the years, but the one he loved the best was a Zeiss F1.5. When the civilian population of Port Said was evacuated in the aftermath of the 1967 War, Saad went to Tanta, living there for nine years and working in front of the National Bank building and Banque Misr. Just as his father had done before him, Saad taught his own two sons photography, though neither of them wanted to take it up as a career. One is now an electrician and the other is a plumber. There is more money to be made in these lines of business, Saad admits. Like his father, Saad has a strong creative streak, and he has often designed photographic props, such as hand- painted backdrops and curtains. Now such backdrops are commercially available. "The ready-made ones are good, making the ones I used to make look crude in comparison," Saad says. However, many customers would probably appreciate the hand-made backdrops all the same. In fact, many of those who pose for him for five pounds a pop are more interested in seeing Saad work in the old- fashioned way than in having their pictures taken. Some pay the money and don't come back to get their photographs, which he still develops using the familiar chemicals, just like in the good old days. Saad knows a lot about the world of photography and can talk endlessly about how technology has changed. Digital cameras, he says, can do all kinds of fancy stuff. His voice trails off. But there is one thing such cameras cannot do. They cannot take you back in time the way Saad can.
