For reasons unknown to me, the neighborhood of Al-Gamaleya holds a special place in my life. I was neither born there nor raised among its people, yet its shadow seems to follow me in everything I see. Perhaps this is because I perceive that shadow clearly in all who have ever passed through the oldest quarters of ancient Cairo.
Al-Gamaleya, a remaining relic of the Fatimids to this day, is the largest district in their capital, founded by Jawhar as-Siqilli on a high plateau. He surrounded it with walls and gates to protect it from northern enemies. To the south, its inhabitants dispersed: Jews isolated themselves in their quarter, Copts in Harat Zuwayla, while Muslims found solace in Al-Azhar Mosque and near the Prophet’s grandson. This is the area where current Egyptian President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi grew up, and its influence remains evident in his personality and governance style.
Has Sisi read “The Personality of Egypt”?
In his book “The Personality of Egypt: A Study in the Genius of Place,” Dr. Gamal Hamdan states, “The environment may sometimes be mute, but it speaks through humans. Geography might be silent, but history often serves as its tongue.” In Al-Gamaleya, the environment was silent, and Sisi spoke.
In 2022, during one of his speeches, the president discussed the impact of Gamal Hamdan’s writings on him, particularly regarding his vision for Sinai and its significance. He mentioned that whoever controls Egypt’s eastern gate controls the world. In appreciation of Hamdan’s genius, Sisi ordered that one of Sinai’s major roads be named after him—far from the bridges of Cairo, which the famous geographer perhaps never read what he had written about.
Al-Gamaleya possesses a unique character, both in terms of place and people, an essence perhaps unnoticed by visitors but deeply felt by its residents in every detail. Those who have passed through Al-Gamaleya might recall what I mean: a sense of superiority born from the isolation of old Cairo’s inhabitants from other parts of Egypt, and that distinct arrogance with which most of its original residents carry themselves—as sons of Al-Gamaliyya—is a trait that appeared in the writings of Naguib Mahfouz when he wrote about the era of the strongmen (al-futuwwat). The strongman of Al-Gamaliyya was always the most important among those of Al-Husseiniyya, Boulaq, and Al-Atuf.
When Mahfouz wrote about the futuwwa in his Nobel Prize-winning novel, he chose Al-Gabalawi, who built his mansion in the Muqattam Desert, away from the “gerabee’ ” (riffraff). Al-Gabalawi lived an immeasurable lifespan, inhabiting the land longer than anyone else, for “he is the origin of our alley… and our alley is the origin of Egypt, the mother of the world.”
Al-Gamaleya consistently held a premier position in Mahfouz’s literature, despite him living there only during his early years; it remained in his mind until the end. Thus, geography spoke through Mahfouz’s literature, and at another time, through Sisi’s character.
It was peculiar that the Egyptian president chose his first national project to be building a new administrative capital, replacing the “City of a Thousand Minarets.” Was the administrative capital indeed Mubarak’s postponed project, or was it the idea of Al-Gamaleya’s son, who crafted his capital as a new version of the Fatimid capital, infused with their arts, creativity, and the grandeur of their era, featuring the largest mosques and tallest minarets, and the most exquisite designs? Following their path, Abdel Fattah el-Sisi constructed the tallest tower, the largest mosque, the largest church, and buildings replacing their historical counterparts, adorned with the maximum amount of cold marble and ceramic devoid of spirit, creating his iconic masterpiece.
The desert that became an administrative capital does not differ from the desert chosen by Jawhar as-Siqilli, northeast of the city of Al-Qata’i, the Abbasid capital in Egypt, where the Fatimids built their capital in the third hijri century.
Changing the capital at that time was the primary national project for every state that ruled Egypt. Since its conquest, Amr ibn al-Aas built Fustat as his capital and established his mosque as a symbol of Islam’s dominance over the state. This became a tradition thereafter: the Abbasids chose Al-Askar as their capital, the Tulunid state built Al-Qata’i, then As-Siqilli built Cairo and its Al-Azhar Mosque, marking the beginning of Al-Mu’izz li-Din Allah al-Fatimi’s rule.
The President’s Lexicon
In every speech delivered by President Sisi, dozens of political, psychological, and even physical analyses emerge—scrutinizing his words, gestures, and tone. While most people see “the President,” I always saw in Sisi the son of Al-Gamaliyya. Many of the promises he made to protect Egypt—like saying, “Whoever comes near her, I’ll wipe him off the face of the earth”—are not typical phrases found in presidential discourse. Rather, they are deeply rooted in popular vernacular, drawn straight from the everyday lexicon of Egyptians, especially from the eras of local strongmen (futuwwa) and what came after. It’s as if Sisi has been possessed by the spirit of Al-Gamaliyya’s street strongman, fighting not for a country, but for a beloved—rather than acting as a head of state addressing enemies of the nation.
The lexicon of Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, son of Al-Gamaleya, is replete with terms from his birthplace. He often speaks with the tone of a devout mystic, confident that God will not disappoint him, believing that the Almighty responds to his supplications and grants him more than he asks. Many mocked his earlier statement about being the “philosophers’ doctor,” yet each time he approached collapse, God’s hand extended to him, bringing him back stronger than before. Thus, Al-Gabalawi remains in his mansion, enduring beyond all others, and Sisi remains in power, fortified by his black agate ring that grants him strength and protection.
The King’s Ring
“The ring on the servant’s lip”—that’s how the people of Al-Gamaliyya and the traditional goldsmiths refer to the black agate ring mixed with silver. It’s a ring the Prophet Muhammad recommended for men, and a remaining legacy of the Fatimid era in Egypt. This black agate ring appeared on Sisi’s hand from the very first moment he emerged alongside ousted President Mohamed Morsi. Sisi was a man unknown to the public, coming from military intelligence into his new position, dressed in uniform, and wearing a black ring through which needs are fulfilled. It has never left his hand to this day.
“Wear agate rings, for they are blessed. Whoever wears one, good fortune is near,” said Imam Ja’far as-Sadeq. Among the notable men of Al-Gamaliyya, wearing an agate ring on the right hand is a symbol of blessing, a ward against poverty, and protection from evil spirits.
The people of Al-Gamaliyya believe in magic, envy, and the evil eye. They are among the most devout lovers of incense, especially on Friday mornings. With the incense, the men wear their black agate rings and head to the mosques, distributing blessings to the pious in hopes of earning divine favor. Perhaps this explains Sisi’s yearly gathering with people with disabilities on the International Day of Persons with Disabilities—a symbolic gesture in which they surround him and he grants their wishes, evoking memories of “The Green Door.”
In the television series El Ekhteyar (The Choice), in which actor Yasser Galal portrayed Abdel Fattah el-Sisi, the scenes with his mother documented the deep bond between them. In one of those scenes, she tells him that they used to hide him from people out of fear of the evil eye. This scene sparked widespread mockery on Egyptian social media, but in truth, I can almost swear that it was real. The same fate that gave me life in Al-Gamaliyya gave me memories of my husband’s family that are remarkably similar to what Peter Mimi depicted through Sisi’s mother and her son. My husband, too, was hidden by his family from neighbors and relatives—not because of any exceptional talent or grandeur, but because of an old Egyptian custom, deeply rooted in Al-Gamaliyya and other popular neighborhoods, a tradition that has now found its way onto social media, where mothers replace their children’s faces with a big heart emoji.
The President’s Chair
The spirit of Al-Gamaliyya never left President Sisi, who now physically elevates himself above others—quite literally. Recently, he was seen seated in a chair distinct from those around him, unlike former presidents Mubarak, Sadat, or Nasser, whose chairs matched those of their peers in size and height. But Sisi’s current chair at public events stands out: taller and grander, resembling the thrones of al-Gamaliyya’s futuwwa (strongmen) still seen today in Khan al-Khalili or Al-Mu’izz Street. I remember a series of meetings ten years ago with one of the president’s cousins while researching his birth in al-Gamaliyya. The man always sat in his own custom-made inlaid arabesque chair. No one sat in it, even in his absence. Death took the cousin, but the chair remained empty.
The Legend of the End Times
“And some of the young men from our alley began disappearing, one after the other. Rumors spread that they had found Hanash and joined him—that he was teaching them sorcery in preparation for the promised day. Fear gripped the overseer and his men. They planted spies in every corner, raided homes and shops, and imposed the harshest penalties for the smallest misdeeds. They beat people for a glance, a laugh, or a joke, plunging the neighborhood into a dark atmosphere of fear, hatred, and terror. But the people endured the tyranny with patience and clung to hope. Whenever things became unbearable, they said: ‘This injustice must have an end, this night must be followed by day. We shall witness the downfall of tyranny in our alley, and a dawn of wonders.’”
The geography and history narrated by Naguib Mahfouz about the life of Al-Gabalawi in the Muqattam desert, and the land of his sons and grandsons that extended into al-Gamaliyya, comes to an end with the legend of Arafa, the sorcerer of knowledge, and his follower Hanash—who perhaps obtained the “notebook” to continue the path of Arafa, whose legend absolved him of Al-Gabalawi’s blood.
Endings in Al-Gamaliyya must be mythic and mysterious. Even before the conclusion of Al-Gabalawi’s tale, there was a more enigmatic and more dramatic ending. In the Muqattam desert, the most controversial ruler of the Fatimid dynasty vanished and became a saint in the Egyptian collective imagination. The sixth Fatimid caliph, Al-Hakim bi-Amr Allah, rode out of his palace in Al-Gamaliyya into the desert, only to be betrayed and murdered by his sister, Sitt al-Mulk. Though his killers confessed years later, Egyptians continued to await his return to the capital… because, as always, everything begins in Al-Gamaliyya.