Egyptian Soul II - Leila Mourad and Cairo’s Haunted Spaces

Samuel Owers

Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons

‘Egyptian Soul’ is a reflection on music and history in 20th century Egypt. In a series of four articles, Samuel Owers examines key developments in the Arab cultural scene through three key artists: Sayyed Darwish, Leila Mourad, and Asmahan. Through their stories, he explores the past and present of Egyptian society, with all its contradictions and complexities. He touches on the clash of competing identities and allegiances (political, ethnic, religious) the role of women and marginalized groups, and the vast social changes that affected Egypt in this period, all through the medium of music.

Garden City in downtown Cairo is an eerie place. Full of lavish villas and art deco apartment blocks, this upmarket residential district was once the playground of Cairo’s cosmopolitan elite, housing princes, businessmen and A-list actors in the 1930s and 40s. Now, almost seventy years after the July Revolution which put an end to the monarchy and the British occupation, the area feels half-empty. Its handsome buildings are still intact, but increasingly lopsided and discoloured; its pavements are neglected and full of potholes; its palaces have stood empty for decades, or been converted into banks and foreign embassies. No one lives here anymore except foreigners and little old ladies who hobble around in elegant dresses, the last remnants of a ruling class who fled the inner city decades ago. Don’t get me wrong, you’d still do well to live in Garden City compared to most other parts of the crowded metropolis: it’s green and pretty, very central, and its crumbling infrastructure is better than none. Yet the place gives off the distinct impression – always present in downtown Cairo but at its strongest here – of living in the shadow of its former self. Brass plaques line the streets here, paying tribute to various men and women who lived here in the ‘good old days’ (el-zaman el-gameel). Their names and biographies, embossed in bold print and copied out in two or three languages, lie unread, covered in dust which blows in from the desert.

One such plaque, on El-Faskya street, points to the former residence of Leila Mourad, an iconic singer and actress whose films mark the golden age of Egyptian cinema. As one of the more well-known residents of the area, her name and connection to this building are just about still remembered without recourse to the plaque. The two-bedroom apartment is the last in a long series of houses, villas and chalets that Leila Mourad called home throughout her life, and the most meager in size and décor. Ironically, the great film star of the 1930s and 40s did not live in Garden City in its glitzy heyday, but came towards the end of her life, by which time the area was on the road to decline. When she died here in 1995, at the ripe old age of seventy-seven, the former star was down on her luck. She had not sang or acted in four decades, nor was she entitled to any royalties from her past performances, which had made a handful of producers, directors, songwriters and composers – all men – stinking rich for life. Leila Mourad did not die poor, admittedly, but her funds had been dwindling for years, and she needed somewhere cheap in which to live - and die  - before the money ran out for good.

At the peak of her fame in the 1940s, it must have seemed impossible that things could turn out this way. Before reaching the age of thirty-five, Leila Mourad had racked up an immense fortune from her musical films, making over 12,000 Egyptian pounds in the year 1942 alone – the biggest earnings of any Egyptian actress and more than most Hollywood stars. She was also the first Egyptian actress to have her name used in the title of a film – Leila, the Girl from the Country (1941) – which turned out to be a highly marketable strategy and became a recurring theme – Leila (1942), Leila the Schoolgirl (1942), Leila, Lady of the Camelias (1942), Leila in the Shadows (1944), Leila Daughter of the Poor (1946), Leila Daughter of the Rich (1947).  Her success came partly from her portrayal of rebellious female characters at a time when women’s role in society was rapidly changing, partly from her striking and expressive features, which brought vitality to the black and white screen, and partly from her voice, at once delicate and powerful, which earned her her title: ‘the Guitar of Arabic Music’. (I promise you, it sounds better in Arabic)

Leila Mourad and Anwar Wagdi in ‘Darling of the Soul’ (1951)

This rare musical ability was no God-given talent, but was intensely cultivated by Leila’s father, Ibrahim Zaki Mourad, a celebrated composer and performer in his own right. From the age of six, Leila was coached in the art of classical singing and mingled with elite artists like Sayyed Darwish, credited as the founder of modern Arabic music, who would come to the family home most nights to swap new melodies with Ibrahim and his composer friend Dawood Hosni. After a childhood of rigorous training in the art of performance, all the young artist required to fulfil her father’s dream was a composer who could make use of her precocious abilities. At the age of twenty, she found the other half of the musical equation in the legendary composer Mohamed Abdel-Wahab, who starred opposite her in her first film, Long Live Love (1938). Abdel-Wahab, himself a student of Sayyed Darwish, was able to harness the potential of Leila’s voice through innovative compositions which often broke the rules of Arabic melody by mixing several scales (maqamat) in a single six-or-seven-minute song, which would then be recorded, choreographed and inserted into a film. This new style of music, which grew out of the emerging medium of cinema, was derided by traditionalist composers, but won the pair immense popular acclaim. Many of their films from this period, such as the classic Flirtation of Girls (1949), remain favourites to this day.

By the time of the July Revolution in 1952, Leila Mourad was poised to claim her throne as the queen of the Egyptian musical scene. Her path seemed clear of any serious competitors, as Asmahan, the young and beautiful Syrian princess, had died in a car accident years back, and Umm Kalthoum, twenty years Leila’s elder and approaching middle age, fell out of favour with the new regime due to her connections with the deposed monarchy. Leila Mourad pinned her hopes on the quiet and enigmatic General Mohammed Naguib, leader of the new military government, as the key to her future, developing a personal relationship with him and performing songs in his honour. The bet seemed to pay off initially, as Umm Kalthoum – along with Leila’s former partner, Mohamed Abdel Wahab – was banned from state radio channels by the Revolutionary Leadership Council, leaving the young singer as undisputed ruler of the airways. Her leading performance during the official anniversary of the revolution in 1953 was her coronation, setting her up in the eyes of the public as a star whose light would shine for decades to come.

Leila Mourad gazes at a picture of General Mohammed Naguib (Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons)

Sadly, politics got in the way of a happy ending, after the young and charismatic officer Gamal Abdel Nasser took control of the Revolutionary Leadership Council in 1954 and placed Leila Mourad’s number one sponsor, President Naguib, under house arrest. Justifying Nasser’s action was the dubious claim that Naguib secretly supported the Muslim Brotherhood -  an excuse familiar to any observer of Egyptian politics to this day. Nasser ascended to the Presidency and proceeded to purge his predecessor’s entourage, not only of rival politicians but also cultural figures like Leila Mourad and fellow singer Mohamed Fawzi. Umm Kalthoum, whom Nasser personally idolised ever since she had delivered a special concert to his platoon when they were trapped in Palestine in 1948, was reinstalled as the icon of the Arab nationalist project, and exercised far-reaching control over her rivals as president of the state radio ‘listening committee’. Umm Kalthoum would go on to dominate Egyptian music for the next two decades, showered with popular affection as the embodiment of the Arab struggle, whilst Leila Mourad would find herself sidelined, forced to gradually withdraw from singing and acting before announcing her retirement in 1955, at the age of thirty-seven. Commenting on her early retirement, the press suggested variously that Leila Mourad was devoting herself to her husband and children, that stage fright got the better of her, and that she could not stand to watch her looks wither away on film.

Leila Mourad and the cast of The Flirtation of Girls (Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons)

Despite the brazenness of these claims, it is perhaps true that there were other factors in Leila Mourad’s retirement beyond pure political necessity. In fact, the tragedy imposed upon her by Nasser’s regime may have been the least arduous of the many trials she faced in her life. Leila arguably suffered most at the hands of those she was closest to. Ibrahim Zaki Mourad had subjected his daughter to years of torment during her childhood as he moulded her into the perfect artist he saw in her, punishing her harshly if she failed to live up to his standards, in a pattern of abuse similar to that suffered by the Mozart or Michael Jackson. When Leila finally escaped her father, it was in the arms of her co-star Anwar Wagdi, who went on to subject her to similar abuse throughout their eight-year marriage. After their divorce, Wagdi relentlessly pursued Leila, even reporting her to the authorities for disloyalty to the state. In the context of these two toxic relationships, it is easy to see how showbusiness culture with its demands of constant performance could be a traumatic environment for Leila Mourad. Perhaps her retirement in 1955, which came after she had finally established a loving family with her second husband, Fatin Abdel-Wahab, reflected a desire to leave behind a world which had damaged her so badly, and build a new life afresh.

The final ingredient in Leila Mourad’s story, and perhaps the elephant in the room as far as Egyptian society is concerned, is the fact that she was born Jewish. Ibrahim Zaki Mourad, as well as Leila’s mother Gamilah Roushou, came from prominent Egyptian Jewish families known for their work in the entertainment industry and their strong patriotic streak. The celebrated musician Ibrahim learnt his trade as a cantor in the local synagogue, and was one of a number of leading Egyptian cultural figures with Jewish origins, including the aforementioned Dawood Hosni, as well as Yaqub Sanu, one of the founders of modern journalism in Egypt. Leila Mourad – born Lilian Ibrahim Zaki Mourad – grew up in a multilingual and multicultural Cairo, raised by a family of proud Jewish Egyptians who saw no contradiction between their religious and national identity, and shared a longstanding commitment against Zionism.

Leila Mourad’s conversion to Islam, 1947 (Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons)

Sadly, the interwar period brought great upheaval to Egyptian society, not least its Jewish citizens, who suffered as the political system began to falter and politics splurged out on to the streets. Fascist and Islamist mobs targeted Jewish areas during long periods of street violence, which intensified as the colonization of Palestine went ahead under British auspices and the Second World War brought ethnoreligious tension to the public consciousness. Many Jews joined communist youth groups, opting for a temporary alliance with the British occupiers against Fascist mobs supporting the advancing forces of Nazi Germany, who at one stage came within a day’s march of Alexandria. After the war, a climate of fear dominated as anti-Jewish riots erupted in November 1945, spurred on by the Muslim Brotherhood, and it wasn’t long before Leila Mourad, by far the most prominent Jewish celebrity in Egypt, agreed to convert to Islam in order to preserve her career. She and her family would remain staunchly patriotic in the years that followed, supporting the struggle against Zionism through four wars in 1948, 1956, 1967 and 1973. She would sing patriotic anthems in praise of the war effort on the radio, and insist on staying put in Alexandria as it was bombed by an Israeli-British coalition during the Suez crisis, singing loudly to her children in the hope that they wouldn’t hear the sound of the air-raids.

Yet the Mourad family’s steadfast loyalty to the Egyptian cause would not save them from persecution, as in 1967 President Nasser issued an order calling for the arrest of all Jewish males of fighting age, and leading to Leila’s brother Isaak’s arbitrary detention for three years. As conditions became harder for Egyptian Jews, many chose to flee or were forced to emigrate by the Egyptian government, but Leila Mourad refused to leave, insisting on her Egyptian identity even as family members were imprisoned and deported. By the end of her life, Leila had no family left in the country, after almost all Egyptian Jews had fled or been expelled, mostly to Europe and the US. Her reward for this sacrifice was a series of vicious rumours circulated in the press, alleging that she was an Israeli spy, that she donated thousands of pounds to the IDF, and that she had secretly visited Israel during a trip to Syria. After extensive pressure, the Egyptian army released an official statement asserting her innocence of all these claims, but the rumours continued until Leila’s death and beyond.

Downtown Cairo’s Gate of Heaven Synagogue (Image Credit: Wikimedia Commons)

Only five Jewish citizens now remain in Cairo, and twelve in Alexandria, out of a population of some 80,000 Egyptian Jews in 1948. With religious tolerance high on the government’s agenda, there has been talk in recent years of inviting Jewish emigrants back to Egypt, but by any rational calculation, the days of this ancient community are numbered. This year, I had the privilege of visiting the Gate of Heaven synagogue on ِAdly Street in downtown Cairo, still considered consecrated ground for an ever-dwindling congregation. On entering its vast hall, I was greeted by an atmosphere of unshakeable melancholy unlike anything I have encountered in the city. I have a hunch that if I entered Leila Mourad’s apartment in Garden City, that same feeling might come back to me. A quick Google search reveals that the new owner of her apartment has kept the place exactly as it was when she died, with the same furnishings, the same pictures, the same floor plan - like the synagogue, a space between existence and absence. Google also tells me that the apartment is haunted by ‘benign jinn’. Just another bizarre rumour fabricated to discredit this poor woman even after her death? Who knows? But to me it’s a pleasant image in any case. If anyone needed a host of kindly beings to keep them company, it would be Leila Mourad.