The tent-makers of the Khan el-Khalil Part 3

Deep within the rutted, sanded streets of the Khan el-Khalili, beyond the curtained stone walls and massive oaken gate of the Bab Zuweila, dwell the tent-makers of Old Cairo. When the Circassian caliphs planned the expansion of Cairo nearly a thousand years ago, they designed a place for the Trans-Saharan caravans to stop. Destined be one of the grandest bazaars in all of the Muslim world, the Khan el-Khalili originally catered to dusty traders and camel merchants. The tent-makers were among the original artisans to establish premises here in the Khan; and here they have stayed.

You will be hard-pressed to find a tent-maker these days that actually makes tents. Sure, a few of the old-timers still sell miniature tents, hand-sewn and made of heavy-grade canvas; but these are play-tents for children meant for the back yards of wealthy Egyptians who come here to purchase something special for their children or grand-children. No, the tent-makers of Cairo stopped stitching tents long ago.

Today the tent-makers spend their days putting their stitching talents to good use by producing sumptuously ornate quilts and wall-hangings. These artisans spend their days carefully clipping geometric shapes from the same rich fabrics used by the dress-makers at the other end of the Khan. Once cut from a bolt of colorful brocade, these pieces will be fitted together and then delicately stitched to produce lavish Arabesque designs suited to traditional yet refined Egyptian tastes. An inexpensive, Arabesque wall hanging, a little more than a square meter in size and created by one of the apprentice tent-makers, will set you back 100 Egyptian pounds or about $15 USD. A stitch-signed piece of roughly the same size but created by one of the master artisans here can cost 20 to 30 times as much. And for some people, especially for one of our artistically-inclined group leaders, that is still a bargain.

Now that we have arrived on what feels like almost sacred ground, our group of 25 begins to look within the tent-makers' stalls. The artisans know a good thing when they see it, and really take time with each of us, showing us more of their inventories than we could possibly see within the time allotted to us. They pull out wall hangings and quilts of every color and size imaginable from every hidden nook and cranny within their cramped stalls. It seems as though it has been quite a while since a large group of Westerners has traversed this far into the Khan, and the merchants here are ready for some serious bargaining. Most of our group is prepared for this, and a flurry of haggling commences. Sales are subsequently made. Merchants and buyers both seem happy; save for the leader of our group. He is searching in vain for Tariq, the best tent-maker in the Khan. Trouble is, he cannot remember which stall is Tariq's.

As we search for Tariq, we get a quick lesson in judging the quality of Arabesque wall-hangings and quilts. The masters work with only the finest materials, and their stitching is tight and extremely precise. I begin to search the stalls in earnest, trying to spot the difference between the work of the masters and their apprentices. Just as I think I am getting the hang of it, half of the members of our group decide that they have had enough, and they head back toward a nearby coffee stand and then onward back to our bus. I stay, but I sense that time is beginning to run out. 

Almost desperate, our leader and a couple of others head down a side lane. I continue to try to ascertain the quality of the various  pieces that I am shown whenever I venture into a stall. Now that the group has thinned out, the merchants that have yet to make a sale are becoming a little more zealous. I flee one especially energetic merchant, almost diving into a very small, very narrow stall. The mustachioed, unassuming artisan in this particular stall is busy at work on a large Arabesque piece. He is smiling and whistling, very much engrossed in the task at hand. Almost immediately, I notice deft, well-trained but gnarled hands flying over the material, stitching so quickly that I can scarcely see the movement happening. He looks up and smiles as I more or less tumble into his stall. 

"May I watch you sew?" I ask, lamely.

"As you please, sir," he responds politely, still beaming. "I am working on a nice piece. Come see."

As he focusses his attention once more on the wall hanging in his lap, I walk over to see this man at work. He resumes his whistling; still he is smiling. His is working on a rather large piece, maybe two square meters. It is probably the most intricate, geometric piece that I have yet seen in the Khan, and it is breathtakingly beautiful. Uniform pieces of cobalt, emerald and gold leap from this man's quilted canvas. The work is stunning, and I am mesmerized.

Having returned from their brief journey down the lane, my despondent group-mates shuffle into the smiling merchant's stall as I call for them. I ask the leader of our group to verify that what I am seeing is indeed one of the masters at work. He comes closer for a look, verifying that this is most certainly one of the masters.

Upon hearing this compliment, the artisan looks up from his masterpiece.

"Mr. John! You have come back to see me!"

"Tariq! David, come over!" Our group leader is yelling, motioning frantically to all the others in our group. "It's Tariq! I found him!"

And so after nearly an hour of searching and browsing, we find Tariq, the most famous tent-maker in all of Cairo. Introductions are established. Inquiries about Tariq's family are made. Tea is offered. Then the leader of our group tells Tariq that he is looking for something special. Tariq yells in Arabic across the dirt street to another stall merchant who responds immediately, crossing the street and taking Tariq's place.

"Please, come," he beckons, beaming even more than before.

We are led through a labyrinthine series of paths to a ramshackle, four-story building teeming with children scurrying around in every direction. Tariq stops before a great wooden door, triple-locked and dead-bolted for good measure.  He opens each lock with care and calls to a couple of the men who are smoking shisha in the room adjacent.

"Private stock," he says as he opens the door and hurriedly ushers us in. 

One of the shisha-smokers joins us as his companion shuts the door behind us. As the musky scent of apple flavored shisha drifts about the room, we become aware that we have been led to a treasure trove of some of the most beautiful embroidered works of art that I have ever seen. There are thousands of wall-hangings, carpets, quilts and tapestries strewn about the room, bursting from every wooden cabinet. We are shown sample after sample of richly embroidered and impossibly detailed wall-hangings. 

As our group guide short-lists four or five samples, Tariq tells us that although business here in Egypt is not good, it has been good lately in the States. It turns out that our famous tent-maker with the small, narrow, innocuous stall deep within the Khan el-Khalili, crosses the Atlantic two to three times a year. The sales he makes in the U.S. covers all of his travel expenses and allows him to earn a decent living.

"I have last month just come back from a good trip in Rochester; the one in New York," he says proudly. "And in October, I go again to Paducah."

Paducah. Paducah, Kentucky. Just a few miles away from my wife's hometown. 

I look to my wife, her face a beautiful mixture of excitement and longing for home, and I know that the wheel of fate is turning and that our number is up; but in a good way. A hour later we emerge from Tariq's private warehouse, and we are now proud owners of one of Tariq's exquisite Arabesques. 

As we bid Tariq farewell, I am struck by an inescapable sense of global irony. We have travelled thousands of miles to live in Cairo, and today we have made what some of our friends would say is a foolish journey into a part of Cairo that is not the safest in the world only to be escorted into the warehouse of the most talented tent-maker in all of Cairo and to end up discovering that he sells his masterpieces at an annual quilting fair not far from where my wife grew up. We live in a small, small world.

*This week's photos taken by Dana and Kyle Purpura.