Mawawil – Gypsy songs of Egypt – are driven from the Egyptian countryside: Mansoura, Sharqeya, Menufiya, Beheira and Qaliubiya.
And in Cairo’s Downtown Makan theater last Tuesday, the audience found themselves transported to 1900s Sharqeya itself, sitting in a simple, almost makeshift building on the banks of the Nile in the West Delta.
Cairo’s urban sprawl drifted into inconsequentiality, as the attendants were swiftly drawn into the rhythms of the earth.
Gamalat and Reda Shiha arrived in Cairo over 50 years ago from what was then a backwater rural province. Yet throughout their years in Cairo, like many rural-urban migrants in Egypt, ties to the country life remain the steadfast lynchpin of their identity.
“Our songs are inspired by the farmers’ experience. The words and rhythms are tied to the sowing and reaping of the fields of fuul (beans) and corn, says Reda.
Their performance, under the evocative lighting arrangement of Makan, is complemented by their eye-catching sha’bi (local) dress. Wearing traditional abaya’s, it’s clear that for Reda and Gamalat, every performance is an occasion in itself.
Reda wears a gold-embodied red abaya and head scarf, while Gamalat dons a purple sequined abaya and scarf, complete with purple lipstick and kohl (eyeliner) stroked eyes. Both are emblazoned with a handful of gold bracelets and filigree earrings, giving the impression you might be attending a traditional wedding in the countryside.
Listening to Mawawil is like having your chest pulled forward by the strings of the rababa (string instrument); your body lurches in rhythm to the beats of the tabla (drums), and your head and arms sway elastically to the hypnotic minors of the kawala (flute).
Their husky vocal calisthenics sing of folk religion, love, praise and the farmer’s experience, exuding the rich, knowing quality only acquired through age and sheer passion for the music. At one point, Gamalat improvises, singing to ward off el-hasad (the evil eye).
“Our father taught us to sing before the age of 10, said Gamalat, “and we’ve been singing ever since.
It’s hard to tell their age, and out of politeness, I didn’t ask, but I would guess they’re well into their 60s. Gamalat is most definitely the older sister.
Both enchant the audience, but their storytelling techniques differ somewhat. While Reda flirts and smiles coyly, Gamalat takes it by storm, seizing the words with her fierce harmonics and throwing them to her audience.
The Mawawil are distinguished by a blend of improvisation; lyrical projections on a theme hanging in the space between poetry and song, and Reda and Gamalia master it with finesse.
Whether you’re familiar with the Arabic language or not, the repeated words and rhythms, accompanied by the singers’ body language and facial expressions, make potential language barriers irrelevant.
“We’ve traveled all over the globe, says Reda with pride, “and on Thursday, we’re off to perform in France. Most of our audiences abroad are foreign, and they love our music.
Their musical wanderings, taken ironically, fit the category of ‘Gypsy’ music.
In Egyptian culture, Gypsies were the bohemian artists who came to the market places and festivals, hung around on street corners and doors of houses, asking for gifts and money in exchange for their playing.
According to musicologist Dr Mohammed Omran, those Gypsies who possessed real talent won huge followings at weddings, recited poetry in cafes and contributed to the cultural life of Egypt with their poetry and highly distinctive musical genres, including the Mawal and the Ta’tou’a.
But Mawawil wouldn’t be complete without their band. They call themselves a family, and in fact, a few do have family ties. Using the most traditional instruments, they capture a sound that is so uniquely Egyptian: raw, lyrical and communal.
During the performance, each is given his space to exhibit his talents. Ragab Sadek’s gymnastic fingers surging and tempering his tabla made for some spectacular visual, as well as audio treats, as duff (tambourine) player Hana switched to the triangle, both leaving the audience spellbound.
The arghoul, played by Amin Shahin, is a piece of history in itself. An Egyptian ancient double “clarinet in bamboo, the musician uses “circular breathing to produce an uninterrupted sound and requires a great physical exertion, keeping one’s cheeks puffed to explosion point for the duration.
The key to Egyptian folk music is that communal feel, a compulsion to take part in singing, dancing, clapping or chanting. That nothing, for that moment, is as important as the subject of the Mawal; that those big words, the eyes and the night, the praised and the cursed possess an unadulterated center stage.
– Gamalat and Reda Shiha, with the Mawawil band, perform every Tuesday night in Makan.
