Cairo — When you live in downtown Cairo, which is a neighborhood of European-meets-Egyptian aspects in various states of faded grandeur, patchy squares brimming with traffic and patchwork storefronts in riotous mismatched signage, it’s respectable, rundown-like help Does helps create a certain tolerance for features. Real estate and geriatric elevators.
Hagar Mohammed was ready to brave the first two. Last, not so much.
In a few months living in the city earlier this year, 28-year-old Ms. Mohamed surrendered to lifts more often than is necessary for most 21st-century residents.
Partly it was his phobia of antique elevators, in which gleaming wood-and-glass cabs were suspended from very visible cables in rib cages of metal grillwork; And partly it was sampled in his apartment building: It went up, but refused to go down without some control-box fiddling. Residents failed to organize maintenance until it stopped working completely; Even after being fixed, it will descend only till the second floor.
But the building was conveniently located. And, well, she lived on the fifth floor.
“We now live on the sixth floor in a building with no elevator,” said Ms. Mohamed, a sociology Ph.D. student. “It’s exhausting. I realized the cost of that elevator when it was gone.”
In central Cairo, some things are thrown for good: consider ancient monuments and tombs made from cannibalistic parts of even more ancient ancestors, or dodge chairs, patched up with prostheses, where doormen sit on almost every sidewalk.
The same goes for the city’s old elevator, beautiful fin-de-sickle and Art Deco pieces. From the era when European architects molded the streets of CairoThe cosmopolitans filled their cafes and the city competed with London and Paris for wealth and glamour. Although some elevators have been replaced by modern machines, dozens, if not hundreds – no exact census exists – have been going up and down in the same building for decades, in some cases over a century.
“The fact that they are still in the works so far,” said Mohamed Hassan, chief engineer of Al-Ismailia, a developer who rehabilitates old buildings in the city of Cairo, “is a miracle.”
Some elevators exist because of their beauty, with landlords considering them as lobby centerpieces. Other owners lack the means or will to replace them, partly thanks to a so-called old rent The system that controls about a quarter of all Cairo rentals allows tenants to pay next to nothing — on average about $3 a month — for years on end.
The classic old elevator rises through an open shaft into the center of a building, an elaborately sculpted metal cage that separates it from the well-clad marble staircase that wraps around it in a helix. Mirrors are common, benches made of beautiful leather are a pleasant surprise.
Most still bear their manufacturer’s original brass plaque (usually out of business), safety instructions (often engraved in French) and a five-digit phone number to call in case of difficulties (after a long disconnect). We do.
“It is a masterpiece,” said 37-year-old Mahmoud Rashad, the proud keeper of elevators in his building in Zamalek, an old wealth district with many ancient elevators at the heart of a connoisseur. “When people come into the building, they feel like they are stepping back in time.”
Another feeling that people associate with this type of lift is that whenever one of them leans up, he or she holds their breath—not with the isolation-tank of modern elevators, but with a little with vibration. With a slight buoyancy on departure and arrival, which makes it difficult to think about the mechanics of the whole operation.
Obviously, some Cairns stick to the stairs. Maybe they’ve heard horror stories—whether wild Egyptian weasels falling inside people, or deadly pats on the head outside cages at the wrong time—or maybe they’ve had their own.
Other memories are more positive: in a country where most still live with their parents and there is no question of public intimacy, young Egyptian couples have been known to use elevators to kiss.
Still, the rate of disasters – anyway – appears low.
Before the lift operates, riders must carefully close the exterior and then the interior doors, a safety feature with few inconvenient side effects.
If someone forgot to close the door properly, the next rider would have to climb the stairs; If someone accidentally pushes the door in the middle, the elevator freezes.
This can be useful in unexpected ways. When the elderly elevator in the Zamalek building recently stopped stopping on any floor except the ground and the top, the doormen temporarily addressed the problem:
1. Press the Up button to send the elevator up
2. When shortening the lift, manually flip the doors open to the desired plane of the rider and let the rider out. (Depending on the accuracy of the flinging, the rider may still have to jump.)
There are a lot of protectors in elevators, and not just for their looks. Their continued existence is a sign of high quality manufacturing. Get stuck, and you’ll have visibility, fresh air, and the option to shout for help or get out on your own.
“All I care about is being able to breathe,” said 68-year-old Hana Abdullah, of the rare occasions when in one of two Schindler originals in a neo-Baroque Art Deco building at 1 Mazloum Street, 1928 The power goes out. . “All I care about is that if the elevator breaks down, someone can bring me a chair” – putting it into the cab through the open shaft – “and I can sit there for the rest of the day.”
When Ms. Abdullah was married five decades ago at the age of 16 on the roof, her husband was one of the building’s two lift operators, pushing buttons to move the rich to their spacious apartments and grazing their butlers . who used to carry cakes and tea for the visitors. Waiting driver, down the road.
But, one after another, the patriot and the pasha died, and the glory of the city’s Cairo’s elite gave way to quick-throbbing patience as the buildings fell into neglect.
Like many Cairns who could afford it, a succession of wealthy residents moved into suburban communities, which had Many residents and their possessions perished from central Cairo. Ms Abdullah’s husband had retired 18 years ago due to poor health, and was not replaced. (These days, only a few buildings use a button-pusher.) Where the pasha once climbed, she now uses an elevator shaft to dry bunches of fresh garlic and onions, for better airflow. reason.
Most of the grand apartments in the building are now vacant. Even one of Ms Abdullah’s children shifted to the city, which is one of the suburbs, on 6 October.
Would she ever consider following up?
“why not me?” That said, practicality conquered nostalgia. “October 6 is incredible. There is space. Here, we’re practically sleeping on top of each other.”
1 Majloom Street is fortunate that both the lifts are still in operation. Many others are sitting in dilapidated conditions, victims of landlord negligence and tenants fighting over maintenance fees that are sometimes so small that paying residents are condemned to non-payers on the stairs. She goes. To set up the keyfob system.
government has started raising city limits, and Mr. Hassan’s company, specializes in restoring city buildings. But Lyft has outpaced most of its manufacturers—Schindler still has a Cairo office, but stopped making parts for antique models years ago—and when serious damage occurs or residents get tired of the trouble, So some surrender to modern replacements.
That too is the way to Cairo.
“It is normal to replace old things with new ones,” said Ghafar Hasan, 73, a concierge at Sayyida Zainab near the city, whose building’s lifts were replaced five years ago. “It’s normal to move on to something new.”
Nada Rashwan contributed reporting.