A Shrine for Sayyed Darwish is Rising From the Ashes in Kom El Dikka

CairoScene

09-06-2025

A Shrine for Sayyed Darwish is Rising From the Ashes in Kom El Dikka
In Alexandria's Kom al-Dikka neighbourhood, a plot of land once reduced to a garbage dump and overrun by livestock is now being cleared to make way for something altogether different: a museum honouring Sayyed Darwish, the composer whose music helped shape modern Egyptian identity. The transformation is being spearheaded by Sīrat al-Eskandareyya, a grassroots cultural initiative with an eye for overlooked urban narratives—and a penchant for turning chance encounters into long-term projects.
The idea was born not out of a state mandate or a sweeping national campaign, but from a conversation on the street. In 2020, Mina Zaki, the founder of Sīrat al-Eskandareyya, happened to be visiting Kom al-Dikka when he was approached by an elderly man, Ali Shetiwi. Shetiwi introduced himself as the son of the original landowner of the site where Sayyed Darwish—often called the father of Egyptian popular music—was born and raised. That was all it took.
'Why not turn this place into a heritage site? A museum?' Zaki recalled. The house itself had long been demolished. In its place stood a vacant lot filled with 12 tonnes of waste and makeshift pens for goats and sheep. But the history beneath the surface remained.
It would take five years of effort to turn that question into a plan. The team had to navigate a complex legal landscape, including the daunting task of locating and convincing 17 different heirs of the property to sign off on the project. That milestone was only reached two weeks ago, clearing the way for construction to begin.
The museum is being designed by architect Karim El Shabouri, whose previous work includes the Umm Kulthum Museum, the Naguib Mahfouz Museum, and the Museum of the Revolutionary Command Council in Cairo. This time, he's opting for a simple, two-story wooden structure—not a reconstruction of Darwish's original home, but a space designed to hold something more dynamic.
'The museum won't look like the house,' Zaki explained. 'It's not about preservation for its own sake. It's about creating an experience.'
Inside, visitors will find a curated journey through Sayyed Darwish's life and work: rare photographs, personal possessions, and most notably, a restored gramophone with original records that will play his compositions. The museum will focus on delivering an immersive, audio-visual experience inspired by places like the Beethoven House in Bonn, rather than the more archival, document-heavy approach seen in museums like the Cavafy House nearby.
There's a quiet pragmatism to Zaki's approach. When asked why Sayyed Darwish was chosen, his answer is refreshingly honest. 'It just so happened that he was born on land we could access,' he said. 'I like his music, sure—I grew up with it, like everyone did. But honestly, the reason we're doing this is because we could.'
This spirit of serendipity runs through much of Zaki's work. Sīrat al-Eskandareyya is itself an offshoot of Al-Gawla, a free walking tour initiative he launched in 2017.
Over the years, Al-Gawla managed to organize 325 visits for over 40,000 guests across 17 governorates, all without charging a single pound. The new initiative—Sīrat al-Eskandareyya, or The Life of Alexandria—was launched in early 2025, in collaboration with a similar project in Cairo. Its goal: to bring hidden histories to light through storytelling, spatial reclamation, and community engagement.
In the case of the Darwish museum, that engagement extends beyond the museum walls. The site is currently bordered by collapsing tenements that pose a threat to public safety—and to the future of the museum itself. 'The surrounding buildings are in terrible condition. The governorate needs to intervene,' Zaki said. 'We've cleared the site, but it's just one part of the larger urban puzzle.'
Still, the symbolic weight of what's happening in Kom al-Dikka is hard to ignore. Sayyed Darwish, who died in 1923 at the age of 31, left behind a body of work that resonated across social classes and political movements. His melodies were adopted by labor unions and protestors alike. His influence seeped into Egypt's national anthem. For decades, his story has lived in concert halls and classroom recitals, but not in the place that shaped him.
That's about to change. And while Zaki resists grandiose language—insisting that he's not motivated by nostalgia or nationalism—there's a clear sense that something important is being reclaimed.
Asked whether he believes the museum could inspire similar projects in other neighborhoods or cities, he replied without hesitation: 'Of course.' If that happens, it may be because of more than just the building itself. It may be because someone paused, listened to an old man tell a story, and decided that even a demolished house full of garbage could be a starting point.