Nadeem
Surrounded with An archive of 20 years of his work. Nadeem finds
himself overwhelmingly sitting amongst his photos, trying to select just 23 of
them for his final exhibition. A photo for each year he had held his camera
catching some of the hardest moments of the past two decades. Mostly wars and
what happens or doesn’t happen after them. Nadeem who is yet to turn 45 was
born after the “Naksa” with some years which is why his mother used to jokingly
tell him as a child "you're the happiness of the defeated". It
wasn’t quite a joke as nadeem grew. He was indeed the source of healing of many
hearts. A playboy one might describe him however a playboy usually leaves the
women heartbroken. but Nadem, he is still in touch with his previous lovers. He
listens to them as they complain about their current lovers and they help
setting him up with new women. inspite of his hard profession, and the two
daughters, and the wife, Nadeem has always found time for love.
Some days before the Egyptian revolution, Nadeem and his journalists friends
were aware that Egypt is approaching a definite change.. the subtle news
articles calling for protests on 25th of january, , along with the underground
mobilization were enough signs for them. They have seen it happening around the
world many times. They have it all printed and pictured. It was just hard to
believe that its bound to happen in the Arab world. And for that, Nadeem
and his very close friend Murad, decided to stay in Egypt to welcome whatever
that is that’s going to happen and maybe even participate. They have been witnessing
such events all their lives, but this one will be different; they will
cross the neutrality line and join the side of the people.
It has been almost two years since the revolution started, and Nadeem was
already reassured that there were more to revolutions than victory and pride.
There was blood. He has seen blood, he has always valued blood for it
sells and boosts the stocks of his photos. but this very last photo he took, it
had more than just blood. There were years of companionship, there was the mind
than never failed to understand him, and the ears that never bored his talk.
There was Murad.
Ever since that last photo, Nadeem swore to never hold the camera again. He
decided to let go of the game and like any professional player, he thought of
having a grand exhibition as his finale game. 23 photos, a photo for each year
he has been in the game will be exhibited in the library of Alexandria this
winter.
"How about this one?" says Karem, Nadeem's assistant who is also
his nephew.
"No. This one was printed over 10 times! I don’t know what is hard to
understand in I don’t want to show the popular photos"
"Well, it’s not hard to understand but its just hard to believe! These
photos are like your trademark. People know them and they know you because of
them. How come you don’t want to exhibit them in your final exhibition?"
Karem asked in a rather pleading tone.
"You know what Karem, the more time I spend with you the more I regret
letting go of Amina. She would’ve just read my mind.
"Well, first of all you didn’t let her go. She quit. And second, I
wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t hit on her! How come you hit on your
assistant for god sake?!" karem asked with his eyes lost in the photos.
" I haven’t! I never did, its just her jealous fiancé who thought I did
even though he never actually seen me before"
Nadeem said the truth. He never hit on Amina. Not that he didn’t want to,
but he was just a professional. It was his reputation that angered her new
fiancé. Nadeem is known for his habit of collecting tough photos and fine
women.
"Omg how come I haven’t seen this photo before. Where was that and
who's feet is that?" asked Karem
Nadeem stared for few seconds to the photo. He told karem that it’s a photo
of a man and his three daughters trying to escape during the first days of the
Gulf war. It was never printed because Murad's feet was mistakenly in the
cadre.
He selected this one for the exhibition.
For the rest of the night, Karem asked many questions and Nadeem fed
his curiosity with anecdotes about his photos, the forgotten photos.
Nadeem was a real professional. It took quite time to become one. He always
respected the distance between himself and his photos. And Now with his new
bitter heart he is trying to let go of his professionalism and to unlearn all what
he had learned, he felt an urge to make up stories for his forgotten photos.
What could’ve happened to this man? has he safely made it? Has he lost any
of his daughters? Where was his wife?. the 23 photos were in some way or
another deformed in technical way. This was had no enough lighting and
this one's focus is not quite focused. He now has 23 photos that will be
exhibited for the first time.
Layla
Layla, 30 years old. Born and lived most of her life in Cairo,
had just moved to Alexandria with her mother. Her mother is originally from
Alexandria a But she lived all her adult life in Cairo with her husband,
Layla's father. Now, after 4 years since her husband died, Layla's mother
decided to go back to her summerhouse in Alexandria to be closer to her
sisters. Layla didn’t want to leave her mother alone for the first months. She
wasn’t quite sure if wants to stay in Alex or not and for that reason, she
accepted a short term job offer in Alexandria library as seasonal events
coordinator. Mariam, her friend who already works at the library, set her up
for the job. Short term jobs were her kind of jobs anyway. She knows what she
wants to do and she knows that anything else is just temporary. She wants to be
a writer. Perhaps that is the one thing she is sure of. She reads a lot and
nothing fascinates her more than a well written novel. She is always envious of
establish ed writers and wonder what kind of a full life they should be living.
Layla knew that she is missing one important element that is why she hasnt
started her dream yet.She doesn’t have any stories. She is very eloquent and
knows how to express herself so she is aware of her ability to describe. She
just has no idea what is it to describe. Last time she wrote a full story was 8
years ago and since then, she had trouble in finishing any other.
"how are you Layla. Whats up. Tell me everything" asked Mariam.
"I am Fine".
"When weren’t you fine. Come on tell me! its been a year since we've
seen each others. Any stories?" you’re stuck here with me for a while so
you should trust me a little bit. I am fun and I sometimes give good advice.
Layla squeezes her memory in search of any memorable anecdote. Nothing
really.
"Its not that I don’t trust you Mariam. You know that. I just was busy
with work so nothing much really happened"
So no boyfriends? Grooms?
No. I mean yes. There are the usual grooms that aunts offer. But I just
haven’t found the one.
Do you meet them or you just say no to the offer?
Layla was embarrassed to say that she did meet a couple of them since she
was always against the idea. However, Nothing new was happening to her life so
she thought of being proactive and accepting one of the arranged dinner offers.
She shortly regretted that.
"No, I haven’t met any of them" lied Layla.
"Very interesting Layla" Lied Mariam too.
"Ok so here is the deal, Nadeem bakr is holding his final exhibition in
Alexandria. And lucky you, you will be working on organizing that.
"Who is Nadeem Bakr?" asked Layla innocently
"Oh God! Nadeem Bakr! The photographer? Ofourse you know him!"
"is this the one who was injured during the revolution?"
"Yes that’s him. Listen, he is a not easy and you are a
bit…well..lets just say innocent. So please please be careful"
"What do you mean be careful? Is he dangerous?"
"hahaha dangerous! Well that’s a bit of an exaggeration. Well actually
no. He is charming, decent, and you just can’t help but love him."
"is he a playboy?"
"Well yes. He is a married play boy".
"Oh shame on him!" Married?! Of course married. His wife stood by
him and gave away her youth till he made it and now he just fooling around with
women behind herback".
"Wow, look at you, you already made up a story and believed it. She
actually knows all about her stories. I once met her in a cultural event and
she made a couple of jokes about her playful husband. She seemed ok with
it".
"Of course she is not ok with it! Poor her she surely just doesn’t want
to be labeled as a divorced woman. Or maybe she doesn’t have an alternative
source of income"
"Well, not really. She is quiet rich on her own. And she is fairly
beautiful as well. She is just really ok with it".
Layla couldn’t sleep that night. Trying to understand what is preventing
this woman from leaving her husband. She got her notebook from under the pillow
and thoughts just flew into the papers. Her mind is finally free and now she
can sleep with a proud smile that she had held a pen once again. The pen that
her dear father gave to her. “Papa would’ve never done that” she comforted
herself as she closed her eyes.
Layla & Nadeem
We met in a winter and parted in another winter. She was clever and needed
no longer than year to write her book. I should've known better than to trust a
struggling writer. Layla, my latest piece of work has made a fool of whoever
says a picture is worth thousand words.
We met during my final exhibition in Alexandria. she wasn’t quiet my style
of women, but she was curious, and back then I admired curious. The questions
kept us stimulated. And we knew it is time to part when all that was left were
answers.
"So why don’t you write about me? I can do a great hero of any
story" I jokingly offered once. I did believe it though. How ironic it is?
How can I blame her for doing so. I offered and she just accepted. If I were
her I would've done just the same. I used to watch her writing for hours using
just one pen her father got her as a child, and deep inside I was worried that
she doesn’t write me. Why wouldn’t she? Am I not inspiring enough? I figured
later that to her I was merely inspiring. I was just inspiring. She had
me written, spell-checked and almost published.
I loved her and I answered her questions. She said she loves me too and
asked more questions. And when she got all her answers she left. In our last
day, she shook my hand and thanked me for granting her her first story. I
asked, "what about the ending" and she replied "The ending
belongs to the writer. The ending is mine".
