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First Steps
On the Banks of the Nile
Damanhur, where I was born in 1946, is a sprawling Delta town, which now has some 200,000 inhabitants. Only 60 km southeast of Alexandria, it lies on the main agricultural road between Cairo and Alexandria and is the chief town of the Governorate of Behira. The name has changed little from its ancient pharaonic days, when it was called Dmi-n-Hr, âThe Town of Horus,â the sun god. I assume the city got its name not just because there was a temple to Horus here, but also because the sun so generously blessed the area with a good climate and bountiful harvests.
Some might say that Horus continues to watch over his city, since the sun is still generous to Damanhur, with sweet fruit like mangoes, oranges, grapes, and guavas abounding in its open-air markets. Furthermore, people in Damanhur, like most people throughout Egypt, radiate sunshine from withinâthey are kind and joyous, and they see the bright side of things, even when they receive bad news. In this sense, because I was touched at birth by the sun of Horus, I think I am an optimist and a true son of Damanhur.
I was born in Damanhur by chance, however, and what I remember of Damanhur comes from a later time, when I lived there and went to the university in Alexandria. My mother, Rawhia Rabiâe Dar, and father, Hassan Ahmed Zewail, were living in Desuq, a charming and serene town on the east bank of the Nile's Rosetta branch. Desuq is not far from Damanhurâit is some 20 km to the northeast. There was regular transportation by train and by car between the two towns, which made it easy to visit Damanhur. On a visit to her mother and one of her brothers in Damanhur, my mother gave birth to her first child, a son named Ahmed Hassan Zewail, on February 26. Forty days later, on al-arba âin as it is called, she went back to Desuq. My arrival after five years of marriage was the reason I was nicknamed Shawqi, âmy desired one.â Everyone called me by this name until I went to the university, where I became Ahmed, not Shawqi.
I don't know the true origins of my family or our name. Some believe that our roots are in ancient Egypt, others think that they are Arab in origin, especially since there is a famous gateway called Bab Zeweila, or âthe gate of Zeweila,â near al-Azhar University in Cairo. After the announcement of the Nobel prize, the Sudanese claimed me, because to them my name apparently derives from Zuwel, meaning the âman of zuqâ (good taste) or âgentleman.â Whatever the origin, I know that I am an Egyptian to the bones.
My father was born in Alexandria, on September 5, 1913, one of eight children, four boys and four girls. World War II played a key role in his destiny.
The war was felt in Alexandria along the North African front. By May 1941, the Axis Forces were already in Sallum and Mersa Matruh on the Egyptian western frontier, and Egypt was deeply involved in the conflictâon the one hand, Egypt was supposed to be Britain's ally, as dictated by the Anglo-Egyptian Treaty of 1936, and on the other hand, Egyptians under the reign of King Farouk were unhappy with Britain's occupation. By November of 1942, Field Marshal Bernard Montgomery and his army had defeated Field Marshal Erwin Rommel's army in one of the war's bloodiest battlesâat al-Alamein, 110 km from Alexandria. Together with the Russian triumph at Stalingrad shortly afterwards, it marked the turning point of the war. Winston Churchill wrote: âBefore Alamein we survived; after Alamein we conquered.â Today there is a huge cemetery in al-Alamein, which stands as a memorial for the thousands of German, Italian, and British and Commonwealth soldiers killed in this battle.
It was during this time that the economic situation in Egypt deteriorated and people panicked. There was a run on groceries and banks and many began to leave Alexandria and Egypt. My father decided to migrate, leaving what the Egyptians call the âBride of the Mediterranean Sea,â Alexandria, for peaceful Desuq. There, he started what was then a unique business of importing and assembling bicycles and motorcycles, and later he was appointed a government official. After settling down in Desuq, he became well known in the town and was ready to get married. Rawhia, my mother, was about ten years younger than Hassan, and they were married in a traditional wedding. My mother did not see the prospective groom in person until he had formally asked for her hand from her family. They remained together for fifty years until my father died on October 22, 1992, at the age of 79.
The Zewail family is very large but concentrated mostly in Damanhur and Alexandria. In Damanhur, they are known for their cotton factories. In these two cities there are more than 120 Zewails now occupying such notable positions as university professors, judges, CEOs of both small and large businesses, and the like. I met some of them when the country was celebrating the awarding of the Nobel prize, although many of them I did not know before moving to the United States.
My mother's family is relatively small and they are mostly from Desuq and other neighboring cities. She had a sister and three brothers; after my arrival, she gave birth to three girls. My sisters were named after our grandmothers and the sisters of my parents, as I was named after my grandfather. These old given names were replaced with modern nicknamesâHanem for Nafisa, Seham for Khadra, and Nana for Nema. According to Egyptian tradition, our middle name is our father's first name, Hassan.
Desuq was the home of the immediate family, but we had a much bigger familyâthe people of Desuq. Families knew each other well, shared in happy and difficult times, and valued interdependence, socially and financially. I do not recall there being a bank in Desuq; instead, people formed a group called a gam âiya, pooling their money to help each family in turn, using a rotation process. My family, like others, were sensitive to the feelings of the community. We were forbidden, for example, to have the sound of a radio loud enough to be heard outside our rooms for forty days following a death in the town. These community feelings and interests were clearly important parts of my first steps in Desuq.
What is so special about Desuq is that it is on the Nile, and the Nile is part of Egypt's ancient heritage. There is still a saying that after you've drunk water from the Nile, you will always return to Egypt. This is a descriptive expression, because it reveals both the nation's sense of community and its willingness to open its hearts and homes to people from outside Egypt. Egypt is the gift of the Nile, as the Greek historian Herodotus said many centuries ago, in about 450 BC. The Nile is a spectacular river that has flowed for eons with the same regularity, and it is this eternity that defines the Egyptian character.
As a child in Desuq, I used to walk along the road that was parallel to the Nile. This is a special road. It follows the Nile all the way to Rosetta, where the famous stone was found in 1799. The stone, now in the British Museum in London, records the gratitude of the chief priests of Egypt to the pharaoh at the time (early in the second century before Christ), Ptolemy V. It's a remarkable monument because it's in two languages, Egyptian and Greek, and three scripts, hieroglyphs, demotic, and Greek. (Demotic is a âshorthandâ form of hieroglyphs, developed in the later pharaonic period.) The stone was recovered by a French officer during Napoleon's expedition, and ultimately supplied Jean-Francois Champollion with the key to the decipherment of the ancient Egyptian language in 1822âhe compared the words in Greek to the Egyptian hieroglyphic and demotic signs, and from this study he decoded the Egyptian signs and words. Rosetta is also an important port city, and thousands of traders and government officials and other travelers used to arrive in Egypt at Rosetta. They would then travel up the Nile by boatâor along the road I just mentionedâto Cairo and other places. These visitors would stop along their journey up the river at Desuq to take a rest or to do business.
Much of that importance of the place still remains and there is moreâit has spiritual depth. In the center of the town is the mosque of Sidi Ibrahim al-Desuqi, âMr. Ibrahim of Desuq.â Sidi Ibrahim was an Egyptian scholar and a sufi. He was a student of another famous sufi, Ahmed al-Badawi, who is celebrated, especially in Tanta, where there is a mosque in his name. Some say the word sufi comes from the Arabic root with the letters sad/fa/waw, and thus is related to words like safw, which mean âclarity, pureness, or sincerityâ; it is also related to the word Mustafa, which is a name for the Prophet Mohammed, meaning âthe chosen one, the choicest, best, most perfect.â Most Arabic-language experts claim the word is derived from the root sad/waw/fa, transposing the final two root letters, which also makes sense, because suf with the long u, means âwool,â and sufis originally wore woolen garments.
The Sidi Ibrahim al-Desuqi mosque was very important in my life because it defined my early childhood. As children, we used to gravitate to the mosque. We would go at dawn and study. When I look back at my life, I realize that this mosque was the nucleus for scholarship at that age. By this I mean that we used to go to the mosque to study, which is traditional in Islam. The mosque is not just for prayer; it is also for scholarship. It has a sacredness and with its beautiful, spacious architecture of domes, columns, and minarets, it radiates the power of respect. During the holy month of Ramadan, my friends and I would always meet after iftar (the meal that breaks the fast at sunset) and go to the mosque. Afterwards, either we would go to my home or I would go to their homes, but in any case, we would study until dawn, and then we would go to pray. So the mosque was central to my life and to the lives of the townspeople. The mosque was like a glue to keep everyone working and living together in harmony.
Sidi Ibrahim was just a few meters from our house. There were many streets and alleys that branched out from it and our house was on one of these streets. As a result, we could hear the prayers five times a day. The Friday prayer was special and my family encouraged our regular participation. The mosque had a positive effect on us and on our behavior. We never heard, or at least I don't remember hearing, of a boy smoking hashish or getting involved with drugs or drinking. Some were trying to learn how to smoke a cigarette, but never in front of their parents. We never heard of violence on the streets. The moral and ethical influence of the mosque created a simple and sheltered environment that was also exciting. I vividly recall the sunset during the month of Ramadan when people were hurrying home to the tranquil sound of prayer in the background, and all shops closed down for iftar just before the boom of the cannon signaled the time for us to eat.
All the shopkeepers around the mosque knew me by my first name; they knew my father and they knew my family. I could buy things from the grocery, for example, and I didn't have to pay. They got the money from my father. A sense of security and trust existed there and it set a standard for community behavior. I remember I used to sit on a wooden bench, with âAmm (âUncleâ) Hamouda, who owned a grocery store and who was the father of one of my friends, Mohammed. The store was across the street from the mosque, and I would welcome the opportunity to ask for advice from âAmm Hamouda, but more importantly to listen to him and to his wisdomâI respected him and he liked me.
As youngsters we were attracted to, not repelled by, such an institution of faith, and the leaders of the mosque continually encouraged scholarship. We saw the simplicity and the enlightenment of the religion, but not the rigidity and dogma I sometimes see today. We saw scholarship in thinking and analyzing and repeatedly we were told of the fundamental role of science and knowledge in our lives. After all, we were told again and again, the first message revealed to the Prophet begins with the word Iqra! (âRead!â). My family supported this attitude and I do not recall incidents in which they imposed rigidity in thought or behavior.
Growing up in Desuq, I had no exotic desires to, for instance, go to Spain for summer vacation or drive to school in a BMW or have private lessons at home. When I see my own children taking classes in swimming, art, basketball, soccer, and violin, I feel that in my adolescence I must have been living on another planet. My soccer balls were made of used (but clean) socks, my hobbies were limited to reading, listening to music, and playing backgammon and cards, and my travel all took place within 100 or so kilometers. But the fundamental forces in life were abundantly presentâthe love of my parents, their confidence in me, and the peaceful home I had in a middle-class family, with all the expected family quarrels.
Growing up I do not recall being punished except on one occasion. I thought I knew how to drive a car because I had figured out how it workedâtheoretically. When my uncle's car was parked near a canal, I tried the experiment without realizing that theory and experiment could be far apart. The car very nearly plunged into the canal and if it were not for my good fortune I would have died. I got what I deserved from my father, though. He had taught me many practical things, including bike riding, which I enjoy to this day, but I don't know why I didn't ask him for driving lessons, perhaps because I didn't anticipate owning a car.
My father was a dedicated person, and he combined two things that I hope I have followed in my life. He was very sincere about his work and his family, and he made us all laugh and have fun until the last day I saw him, just before he passed away; at that time I was living in America and had come to see him by way of Europe. He always believed that âLife is too shortâenjoy it.â He enjoyed his time with people and everyone who knew him, and I think they liked and admired himââAmm Hassan. I admired his wisdom too; life is a journey that you have to learn to enjoyâand he did! Perhaps the most valuable thing he taught me was that there is no contradiction between devotion to work and enjoyment of life and people.
My mother is a devout person and always says her five daily prayers on time, including the one at dawn. Her name, Rawhia, comes from the word ruh, or âspirit,â and she is indeed spiritual. Only 18 when she married my father, her official record of birth is February 2, 1922; because that date was registered after the fact, it is uncertain. My mother now is close to 80 years old. She is a kind and serious person and has devoted her life to her children. Even today, she worries about us and about me, with lots of tears. Such devotion from the age of 18 to 80 is surely heroic, especially by the standards of the modern world! My mother is intuitive and smart, but she wasn't educated formally. She saw her job as creating a stable family environment and taking care of the household and finances. She was central to the peace and contentment of the home and was certainly the driving force supporting my education.
I went to a state school, which was tuition-free in Egypt, and the family was supportive of whatever direction my achievements would permit. Throughout my schooling, I strived to achieve the best possible, though the drive came from within. Incidentally, the alphabet did help in pushing me to the front of things. When I was born, as I mentioned, my father named me Ahmed. In so doing, he did me a favor. With the A in Ahmed, I came at or near the top of listings in schools and elsewhere, since in Arabic we list people by their first names, not their last, as is the custom in most Western countries. In America I lost this privilege as the Z of Zewail took over and I now appear toward the end of alphabetical listings.
Education in Egypt was of excellent quality. It had the elements of healthy competition and was centered in a community environment. Moreover, the teachers were highly respected and the student-teacher relationship was genuine and supportive and not customized around moneymaking private lessons. The community as a whole respected and valued educationâif you really excelled, the community would take notice of you. Desuq would know that So-and-so was an excellent student, and people would offer encouraging comments. Additionally, the educational achievements paid out social benefits. They conferred a unique high-status position for marriage into a well-off family. As people used to say, âthey [the family] are investing in the future.â It's clear that the positive memories of my education exceed any negative ones.
The worst thing I remember about school was the intense memorization that was required in some subjects, like the social sciences or languages. These subjects were taught strictly and formally. Emphasis was placed on the memorization of full names, for example, Mohammed ibn Rushdi ibn âAli ibn al-Khalifâbut what did he really do that is exciting? How did his work fit into the big picture? My interest has always been in analytical subjects, with the desire to ask why and how. It's ironic that one of my most enjoyable hobbies now is reading history. I have a library of diverse history books and I enjoy the subject immensely, but I didn't as a youth.
Another aspect I didn't like was the use of corporal punishment in primary schools. The punishments were never so severe that they were abusive, but the whole idea was an assault on my sense of what a school should be and what educators should do for their pupils. When the occasional disruptive incident occurred, sometimes the teachers would strike the students. I remember once, the children did not like one of the Arabic teachers, so we all decided (I don't remember how) to do something to tease him. He lost his temper and slapped me on the face. When my father learned about this incident, he was displeased, especially since he knew I was a good student. He came to the school and lodged a formal complaint in protest. He subsequently received an apology from the headmaster.
Those negative elements were counterbalanced by a certain degree of freedom to run and play and let off steam. I learned to play basketball, for example, while I was in preparatory school, and there was always the recess time, when I would get a morning snack. I vividly remember the taste of the fresh falafel sandwiches made by our local street vendor. His name was âAmm Ibrahim, and I would run to his cart, which was parked just outside the perimeter of the school grounds near the train station, and say, âPlease, I need a falafel sandwich.â I would watch as he formed the dough, dropped it in the oil, and then took it out piping hot a few seconds laterâwhat a sandwich! And he wouldn't take money, because he would get that from my father, and I would just run back to the school. I still enjoy falafel sandwiches and I always eat them in the first days of my arrival in Cairo.
The activities in preparatory school, which is between the primary and secondary schools in the Egyptian system, were memorable and enjoyable. For example, I took part in a play, and although I have forgotten the role I played, I remember having a lot of fun taking part in it. We didn't have a regular theater, but we made do with imagination and creativity. For example, we had to make our own curtain and we did it with a line of students, and I remember being part of this. We would stand side by side to form the curtain. Someone announcing âLadies and Gentlemen!â would be our cue to quickly jump down on our haunches so the âcurtainâ could open. It was fun and taught us how to be together and how to enjoy ourselves socially. We also went on field trips to historic places and had picnics along the Nile.
During school vacations and when my father had his vacation from his government job, we would go to the Zewailsâ chalet on the beach in Alexandria. That was a big...
