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Egypt Today, Egypt
Sept 14 2005
The Cutting Room Floor
Heliopolis club barber Mahmoud Kenawi reveals and withholds snippets
of the secret lives of Misr El-Gedida's heirs he has collected in
half a century grooming the bigwigs
By Manal el-Jesri
I HAD HOPED the President's barber would give me a unique perspective
on both His Excellency and the famous personalities (political and
otherwise) that have defined the character of Heliopolis. But either
we were misled, or Mahmoud Kenawi, 81, is simply unwilling to talk
about his relationship with the First Family.
`I do not cut the president's hair,' was his flat response to several
versions of the same question peppered throughout the course of our
talk.
Kenawi is willing to discuss, however, the rich half-century career
he has spent as one of the top men's barbers in Heliopolis. Working
out of the Heliopolis club for the past 25 years, Kenawi's customers
include a number of ex-pashas as well as former and serving members
of cabinet and parliament. The names include former deputy president
Abdel-Latif Baghdady, Abdel-Hadi Kandil, and Kamal El-Nazer.
`I did cut Gamal Abdel-Nasser's hair once,' Kenawi recalls. `I also
cut Khaled [Nasser's son's] hair, but had an argument with
Abdel-Hakim about the haircut,' he remembers. `I knew them because I
was the barber of the Marwan family, the in-laws of Nasser's
daughter. I used to sit Ashraf Marwan on a special children's chair
to cut his hair. I also cut his father's hair.'
And what was the late leader like? `Very sweet and gentle. He asks
you how life is, whether you are happy or not,' he replies.
Kenawi looks much younger than his 81 years. Tall and
broad-shouldered, he must have cut a dashing figure in his youth with
his thin Douglas (after the late Douglas Fairbanks) moustache that
you would have seen on 1940s film stars. His voice is deep and
strong, reverberating powerfully against the ceramic walls of the
tiny hole-in-the-wall shop.
Excerpts of our conversation one morning last month:
I have been working as a barber since I was eight years old. I was in
primary two at the time. And what I value most in life are respect
and punctuality. Those who tell you `maalesh' and `I forgot' are
nothing but thugs. In the past, a person would step out of his car,
button his coat, then politely ask you for directions. Today, they
make you jog alongside the car, then drive off without even saying
thank you.
I do not even give such people the chance to sit in my chair.
You see, I choose my customers. I like to work with people from good
families, people who are not stingy. I cannot have someone walk in
wearing shebsheb [flip-flops] or a dirty galabeyya. I have worked in
the best barber shops in Heliopolis, and this is what I like about
the district. Most of the customers are of a certain kind. I only
worked outside Heliopolis once in my life, and I hated it. It was
near the Odeon cinema. The owner decided to deduct half a day's pay
from my salary because I walked in a minute after it struck eight in
the morning. He was just angry because he had to shave one of the
clients, an Armenian with very tough facial hair.
I spent some of my best years working for an Armenian barber. I
worked for him for 18 years, and for 22 years I worked for a Maronite
Lebanese. But then I had to leave when work became scarce. Most of
our clients were foreigners, and when Nasser decided that foreign
nationals must leave the country in '56, it affected our work.
After I left the Lebanese shop, I worked for 90 shops in one year. I
would start work on a Tuesday, and quit on a Wednesday. Barbers are
not very nice people. They talk and gossip too much, they're not good
to each other. This is why none of my friends are barbers. I have a
lot of friends who are ladies' hairdressers. Too bad there is no
baraka [blessing] in their work. It is haraam for a woman to allow a
man to play with her hair. When she gets to know him better, she
starts telling her hairdresser things she does not even tell her
husband.
I finally found myself a comfortable spot here in the club. I know
who I am dealing with, and I know I will be getting the customers I
want. Cleanliness is important to me, too. Working with foreigners in
the past, I got used to customers coming to me after taking a shower.
They do not wait to get a haircut first, which many people here do. I
get youths who come straight to the shop after having played sports,
and are all sweaty. I send them off to the showers first. I refuse to
spread sweat from one person to another.
I like it here, and I am the only one who stayed for a stretch of 25
years. I first came here in `68, but then left in `73. The owner of
the shop at the time, a widow, did not want to introduce some changes
I had suggested. The shop was dirty. It was by the pool. So she got a
barber from Bab El-Shariyya, which is a long way from Heliopolis,
both geographically and socially. This man had never seen women in
bikinis before, and spent the day gawking by the pool. He was also
rude, and would tell the elderly men, who often like to let their
hair grow a little, that they are long overdue for a haircut. He told
this to Abdel-Latif Baghdady, who had the barber's stuff thrown out
[of the shop] right away.
I have been here since 1980.
None of my children work with me, which is contrary to what most
barbers do. I have five daughters and two sons, all college graduates
and all married. I also have 21 grandchildren. Long ago, I had a
customer who was a combat pilot. God rest his soul, he died in the
`73 war. He made me swear never to allow my sons to work with me and
he used to send my eldest his pocket money whenever he came to see
me. I never received any school certificates, so I was really happy
when my son graduated from university. I bought his mother a diamond
ring and band. It was my thanks to her that they all did so well.
[Kenawi and his wife have lived all of their married life in
Heliopolis, a community he is proud to belong to. He is prouder yet
of the centenary celebrations.]
Mrs. Suzanne [Mubarak] would not have celebrated Heliopolis if it
were not almost perfect, like Venice or Alexandria,. It also shows
you what a great woman she is. The president is also great. We live
in bliss, thanks to him. We have peace and prosperity. Never mind the
bombings that took place. Such acts do not shake a military man like
our president. But he has a lot on his hands. At home, we find it
difficult to decide what to eat for lunch on Friday. He has to
provide 210 million meals every day.
[With that, a customer comes in, an elderly gentleman in a beret,
leaning on a beautiful ebony cane. The two men nod to each other in
amiable greeting. Kenawi assumes his professional charm as I vacate
the only chair in the shop in favor of the early morning customer.]
http://www.egypttoday.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=5269
Sept 14 2005
The Cutting Room Floor
Heliopolis club barber Mahmoud Kenawi reveals and withholds snippets
of the secret lives of Misr El-Gedida's heirs he has collected in
half a century grooming the bigwigs
By Manal el-Jesri
I HAD HOPED the President's barber would give me a unique perspective
on both His Excellency and the famous personalities (political and
otherwise) that have defined the character of Heliopolis. But either
we were misled, or Mahmoud Kenawi, 81, is simply unwilling to talk
about his relationship with the First Family.
`I do not cut the president's hair,' was his flat response to several
versions of the same question peppered throughout the course of our
talk.
Kenawi is willing to discuss, however, the rich half-century career
he has spent as one of the top men's barbers in Heliopolis. Working
out of the Heliopolis club for the past 25 years, Kenawi's customers
include a number of ex-pashas as well as former and serving members
of cabinet and parliament. The names include former deputy president
Abdel-Latif Baghdady, Abdel-Hadi Kandil, and Kamal El-Nazer.
`I did cut Gamal Abdel-Nasser's hair once,' Kenawi recalls. `I also
cut Khaled [Nasser's son's] hair, but had an argument with
Abdel-Hakim about the haircut,' he remembers. `I knew them because I
was the barber of the Marwan family, the in-laws of Nasser's
daughter. I used to sit Ashraf Marwan on a special children's chair
to cut his hair. I also cut his father's hair.'
And what was the late leader like? `Very sweet and gentle. He asks
you how life is, whether you are happy or not,' he replies.
Kenawi looks much younger than his 81 years. Tall and
broad-shouldered, he must have cut a dashing figure in his youth with
his thin Douglas (after the late Douglas Fairbanks) moustache that
you would have seen on 1940s film stars. His voice is deep and
strong, reverberating powerfully against the ceramic walls of the
tiny hole-in-the-wall shop.
Excerpts of our conversation one morning last month:
I have been working as a barber since I was eight years old. I was in
primary two at the time. And what I value most in life are respect
and punctuality. Those who tell you `maalesh' and `I forgot' are
nothing but thugs. In the past, a person would step out of his car,
button his coat, then politely ask you for directions. Today, they
make you jog alongside the car, then drive off without even saying
thank you.
I do not even give such people the chance to sit in my chair.
You see, I choose my customers. I like to work with people from good
families, people who are not stingy. I cannot have someone walk in
wearing shebsheb [flip-flops] or a dirty galabeyya. I have worked in
the best barber shops in Heliopolis, and this is what I like about
the district. Most of the customers are of a certain kind. I only
worked outside Heliopolis once in my life, and I hated it. It was
near the Odeon cinema. The owner decided to deduct half a day's pay
from my salary because I walked in a minute after it struck eight in
the morning. He was just angry because he had to shave one of the
clients, an Armenian with very tough facial hair.
I spent some of my best years working for an Armenian barber. I
worked for him for 18 years, and for 22 years I worked for a Maronite
Lebanese. But then I had to leave when work became scarce. Most of
our clients were foreigners, and when Nasser decided that foreign
nationals must leave the country in '56, it affected our work.
After I left the Lebanese shop, I worked for 90 shops in one year. I
would start work on a Tuesday, and quit on a Wednesday. Barbers are
not very nice people. They talk and gossip too much, they're not good
to each other. This is why none of my friends are barbers. I have a
lot of friends who are ladies' hairdressers. Too bad there is no
baraka [blessing] in their work. It is haraam for a woman to allow a
man to play with her hair. When she gets to know him better, she
starts telling her hairdresser things she does not even tell her
husband.
I finally found myself a comfortable spot here in the club. I know
who I am dealing with, and I know I will be getting the customers I
want. Cleanliness is important to me, too. Working with foreigners in
the past, I got used to customers coming to me after taking a shower.
They do not wait to get a haircut first, which many people here do. I
get youths who come straight to the shop after having played sports,
and are all sweaty. I send them off to the showers first. I refuse to
spread sweat from one person to another.
I like it here, and I am the only one who stayed for a stretch of 25
years. I first came here in `68, but then left in `73. The owner of
the shop at the time, a widow, did not want to introduce some changes
I had suggested. The shop was dirty. It was by the pool. So she got a
barber from Bab El-Shariyya, which is a long way from Heliopolis,
both geographically and socially. This man had never seen women in
bikinis before, and spent the day gawking by the pool. He was also
rude, and would tell the elderly men, who often like to let their
hair grow a little, that they are long overdue for a haircut. He told
this to Abdel-Latif Baghdady, who had the barber's stuff thrown out
[of the shop] right away.
I have been here since 1980.
None of my children work with me, which is contrary to what most
barbers do. I have five daughters and two sons, all college graduates
and all married. I also have 21 grandchildren. Long ago, I had a
customer who was a combat pilot. God rest his soul, he died in the
`73 war. He made me swear never to allow my sons to work with me and
he used to send my eldest his pocket money whenever he came to see
me. I never received any school certificates, so I was really happy
when my son graduated from university. I bought his mother a diamond
ring and band. It was my thanks to her that they all did so well.
[Kenawi and his wife have lived all of their married life in
Heliopolis, a community he is proud to belong to. He is prouder yet
of the centenary celebrations.]
Mrs. Suzanne [Mubarak] would not have celebrated Heliopolis if it
were not almost perfect, like Venice or Alexandria,. It also shows
you what a great woman she is. The president is also great. We live
in bliss, thanks to him. We have peace and prosperity. Never mind the
bombings that took place. Such acts do not shake a military man like
our president. But he has a lot on his hands. At home, we find it
difficult to decide what to eat for lunch on Friday. He has to
provide 210 million meals every day.
[With that, a customer comes in, an elderly gentleman in a beret,
leaning on a beautiful ebony cane. The two men nod to each other in
amiable greeting. Kenawi assumes his professional charm as I vacate
the only chair in the shop in favor of the early morning customer.]
http://www.egypttoday.com/article.aspx?ArticleID=5269