In the Heart of Cairo, Craftsmen Uphold Centuries-Old Traditions

Al Khayamiya: The Tentmakers of Cairo

Hundreds of years ago, there used to be many covered streets in Cairo. In alleys under roofs, merchants sold goods during the day and horses rested at night while humans slept on top. Today, Sharia Al Khayamiya, the tentmakers' street located just behind Bab Zuwayla, one of the three remaining gates in the city wall of the Old City of Cairo, is the only covered street left in the Egyptian capital.

Nestled in between stunning mosques lies the shaded alleyway of colors and textiles, traditional embroideries and patterns, some of which date back to Pharaonic times. The 20 to 30 shops in Al Khayamiya are run by smiling and kind descendants of a time when one thousand men practiced the art of stitching.

They are called the tentmakers, because their art form initially created the ceremonial tents and curtains of the Fatimid, Mamluk and Ottoman empires, whose joyful tents hosted collective celebrations. Today, quilt-like artworks for interior display are more commonly found in Egyptian homes.

When I step into the shop “Al Farouk,” I find Ahmed Ekramy stitching lotus flowers onto a white sheet, lost in whatever he is listening to on his Airpods. I ask him about his craft, of sewing different kinds of fabrics to create a textile mosaic, and the young artist tells me that he started learning as a boy, when his father would teach him after school.

The Egyptian quilting tradition dates back 3000 years; Al Farouk shop has been around for 650 years, 350 years before the tentmaker community was established. Both are given to sons by fathers, weaving memories and histories throughout the generations.

All over the walls, sheets are adorned with geometric Islamic patterns, the green paradisiacal birds and red lotus flowers of ancient Egypt and modern depictions of everyday life, like a sailing boat on the Nile or Nubian musicians playing instruments.

“We are inspired by different eras,” Ekramy says. His fingers move quickly under his steady, concentrated gaze. “We draw our designs on the cloth, then we color the fabric that we will cut out and sew onto the sheet.”

City of the Dead: The Glassblowers’ Factory

A short drive from Al Khayamiya into the City of the Dead, the necropolis of Cairo, lies another artistic wonder at the risk of extinction: the workshop of glassblower Hassan Ahmed Ali - popularly known as Hassan Hodhod - and his family. Started by Hodhod’s grandfather during Ottoman times, the family continues to uphold the craftsmanship, with a showroom full of treasures adorning shelves in green, yellow and all shades of blue.

They initially began blowing glass for mosques, creating for and inspired by Islamic references. The link between artistic creation and spirituality becomes clear in all conversations I have with craftsmen in Al Khayamiya or the necropolis. It reminds me of artists I spoke with in Southeast Asia; a strong belief in a benevolent higher power inspires humans to bring beauty into being, too.

Apart from maintaining one of Cairo’s oldest glass-blowing workshops, Hodhod used to be a well-known boxer; the 1990 film Kaboria is loosely based on his life. When I ask him for an interview at the doorstep of his store, where he is smoking shisha, wearing a black t-shirt that says “worrying helps nobody,” he smiles, nods silently, and points at his son. The son tells me that, for my own good, I should not enter their workshop right now as the space gets extremely hot during summer’s soaring temperatures.

The workshop’s materials are mostly recycled factory residues, specifically from the Coca-Cola factory, which is why they have a large amount of green cups, vases and pitchers in the shade of the soft drink’s original glass bottle. I buy a few of each, even though the son recommends perfectly round tea mugs which I cannot fathom using during a Cairene August.

Khan El Khalili, where Mother of Pearl meets Ebony

While the world-famous Khan El Khalili market in Old Cairo may awaken memories of sellers hunting you with alabaster statues and ancient Egyptian t-shirt prints, unique gems are tucked into its quieter corners. When you enter the sea of sounds, smells, and sights, my advice is to continue walking until you have passed the initial shops and reached “Babany Oriental,” owned by Ebrahim Allam, a designer and carpenter who has sold his furniture for 54 years.

Allam’s chairs, tables and dressers are made of various Egyptian woods and mother of pearl that he sources from the Red Sea. If you, like me, are not yet established enough to furnish your home with ebony and nacre, he custom makes tables that shine in acrylic blues, reds, yellows and greens, depicting the same flowers and birds that adorn the walls of Al Khayamiya.

Like his fellow craftsmen, Allam never undertook formal training. Instead, he learned from a desire to work with his hands and an appreciation for arts. “As a young boy, I came here and I started learning which materials are real and which are not,” he tells me. “I was an accountant. When I have an image in my head, I try to recreate it.”

Does he teach the younger generation? “No,” he says. “Nowadays, young people care about money, not craft. When I want to teach them, they want to know how much money they will get from it. But working with your hands takes a lot of time. I spend three months on my tables.”

“There are many designs that nowadays nobody knows how to make,” he continues. “And young people like you like their homes to look modern, not like their grandparents.” While he is not wrong, I proudly bought a customized table from Allam. The connoisseurs who shop his bigger pieces are mostly wealthy Gulf Arabs or Egyptians, but he ships internationally to those who can fit his sizable creations into their homes, wherever in the world that may be.