Banners of love and marriage in the streets of Egypt

Experts say the banners, while appearing traditional, are in fact driven by social media. (Supplied)
Updated 19 October 2018

Banners of love and marriage in the streets of Egypt

  • Apologetic messages to loved ones, expression of love and even marriage proposals have been seen hanging in the streets

CAIRO: In an era of social media even the most personal of messages are conveyed in digital form, or posted on Instagram or Facebook. 

But in a recent phenomenon, Egyptians have taken to hanging old fashioned banners in streets to declare their most personal feelings. 

Apologetic messages to loved ones, expression of love and even marriage proposals have been seen hanging in the streets of Cairo and other cities. 

While the banners have received mixed reactions from the community, ranging from admiration to criticism, experts say that it is in fact social media that is driving the phenomenon.

In one example, on Oct. 15, passers-by were surprised to see a sign hanging by the signatory’s bridge in Zagazig city.

“I’m sorry, Nahla, I swear to God, I love you .. Ahmed,” the sign said in what read like an apology to a lover.

Some members of the community said the signs are just a cheap search for fame rather than a genuine message of love or respect.

Similar signs have been hung in several governorates, including a banner on the main street in Berket El-Sabe’a with the words “Jalal loves Heba, I love you Heba.”

In the province of Beni Suef, a young man wrote on a banner: “The words ‘I love you’ are beautiful. When I hear your voice I am comforted. When I say your name I don't know what happens to me. I love you and I love your mother.”

“This phenomenon has appeared in lots of films, most notably the film ‘Peace and the Snake,’ in 2001,” the community expert Magda Mustafa, said. “Young men want to prove that they are able to do anything and are not ashamed to express their love.”

“In the past, young people were competing face to face, but now the theatrical method is the way to go. 

“We find many men proposing to their loved ones in front of a large crowd, often with a desire to be famous themselves

Media expert Dr. Yasser Thabet said that while the signs appear traditional, they are in fact fueled by social networking sites.

“Social networking sites have a big role in spreading this phenomenon, because the person who does this act wants fame through these sites, which is achieved by multiple people sharing the pictures.”

“Unfortunately, it is false fame. They're just looking to make themselves appear heroic and famous in front of their loved ones.”

After years of silence, music fills streets of Iraq’s Mosul

Updated 1 min 18 sec ago

After years of silence, music fills streets of Iraq’s Mosul

MOSUL: For centuries, it was a magnet for artists across the region and churned out Iraq’s best musicians — but recent years saw Mosul suffer a devastating musical purge.
For three years until last summer, the sprawling northern city was under the brutal rule of the Daesh group.
In imposing a city-wide ban on playing or even listening to music, the jihadists smashed and torched instruments.
“It was impossible to bring my instrument with me whenever I left the house,” said city resident Fadel Al-Badri, who hid his precious violin from the rampaging fighters.
Foreshadowing IS’ repression, the 2000s saw Al-Qaeda and other groups impose an ultra-conservative interpretation of Islam in several districts of the city.
But with Mosul freed from the grip of IS in July 2017, Iraq’s second city is embarking on a musical comeback.
“After the liberation, songs are back where they truly belong in Mosul,” said Badri, welcoming the return of evening celebrations and festivals.
The 45-year old violinist now has the pleasure of playing in public once more to an audience that claps hands and sings along to traditional local tunes.

Mosul has a rich musical history.
It is the home city of Ziryab, a musician who introduced the oud — the oriental lute popular across the Arab world — to Europe in the 9th century.
One of its more recent musical prodigies is Kazem Al-Saher, the Iraqi crooner-turned-talent judge known around the region.
The city even has its own special genre of Arabic ballads, recognized across Iraq and beyond.
From folkloric shows and philharmonic concerts to weddings and other national holidays, song and dance have traditionally filled the streets and surrounding air.
But that meant nothing to IS, which ravaged Mosul’s heritage — musical and otherwise — when it took the city as part of a lightning offensive across Iraq in 2014.
The jihadists began by destroying the statue of celebrated ballad virtuoso Mulla Uthman Al-Mosuli, and then turned their attention to destroying instruments across the city.
IS also forced musicians in Mosul to sign a pledge that they would never play or sing again, which was then posted in public places like mosques.
Singer Ahmed Al-Saher, 33, said it was humiliating.
“I couldn’t leave Mosul after they made me sign because of my sick mother. I had to stay here under all that pressure and fear of the unknown,” he recalled.
Ordinary residents, as well as musicians, are keen to celebrate the return of artistic freedom.
“Terrorism failed in killing Mosulites’ love for art in all forms. It’s been born again, despite the destruction,” said Amneh Al-Hayyali.
The 38-year-old brought her husband, son, and daughter to watch a late-night concert in a cultural center in east Mosul.
“Today, after the dark era of beheadings, lashings, beards and veils being imposed on us... we sing,” she said.

But bringing Mosul’s artistic scene back to its former heyday will not be easy.
Tahsin Haddad, who heads the local artists’ syndicate, said he is keen to support public arts across the province.
“But we are in huge need of support from the central government in Baghdad, especially because Mosul currently has no stages, movie theaters, or art spaces,” he told AFP.
Without these venues, artists play in local cafes and public squares.
Celebrated Iraqi musician Karim Wasfi recently performed in a Mosul park where IS once infamously trained its child soldiers.
Earlier this month, Iraqi artists from around the country swarmed to the city for a cultural festival at Mosul University.
Performers stomped the dabkeh — a traditional Arabic line dance — and painters brought their works to display on the campus.
Glamorous Iraqi artist Adiba traveled from Baghdad with an entourage of peers.
“I am so happy to be in Mosul, singing here after it was freed from the grip” of IS, she said, moments before stepping on stage.
“Artists — Iraqi, Arab, foreign — should all come play festivals here.”