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Before the audience has finished taking their seats, they are already on stage, ready to tell their stories. Sitting with their backs straight, their faces show the hint of a smile, warmly lit by the orange hue of the projector. Tonight’s nine narrators are focused. And, judging by their eyes darting left to right, they’re probably a little intimidated, too. These are not professionals, but their performance is the culmination of a series of weekly workshops organized by the Bab el-Hikayat theater (“the door of stories,” in Arabic) in which they have been taking part for three months in Cairo, to learn how to tell their stories.
Soumaya breaks away from the group seated across from the audience and takes a seat alone in front of the microphone. She is wearing a red jacket, matching with her lipstick, which highlights her smile. “Who, as a child, hasn’t dreamed of escaping with Alice to Wonderland?” she begins. As a little girl, Soumaya identified with Alice’s companion, the White Rabbit, because of her two middle teeth, which are larger than the others. She was teased for them growing up, but as she was so young, it didn’t create insecurities in her at first. The theme of the evening is the mocking and even discrimination that many of us experience at some point in our lives over some physical or character trait, and that sometimes has a lasting effect on us. Another narrator, born to a Syrian mother and an Egyptian father, chose to talk about the racist remarks she faced because of the lightness of her skin or her accent. From shyness to hair color, every difference becomes the subject of an anecdote to be shared.
Mostly women
Bab el-Hikayat is celebrating its tenth anniversary this year. Initially, the workshops were only going to take place over a few days in Alexandria, Egypt’s second-largest city. Now they are also being offered in the capital, and more frequently, throughout the year. The artistic director Horia el-Dkak introduces participants to the art of acting through voice and bodywork. The workshops also include a writing phase. In addition to the theme of the final performance, some fifteen more or less lighter topics are discussed during each session—topics such as addiction, key moments in life, and men and women in popular proverbs. Themed evenings are also held every year to mark Valentine’s Day, the month of Ramadan, and the end of the year.
This Friday in November brings together five women and four men. An exception, since the participants are usually mostly women. “They’re more inclined to talk,” el-Dkak explains. Women-only workshops, with no public performances, are also offered to the public. “Some of them didn’t want mixed groups, or their husbands refused to give their consent. These workshops help build trust,” she says.
A space for personal development
During the performances, Horia sits in the front row. She sticks to her role: she transmits, listens, advises, but doesn't get up on stage. “I grew up in a family of five children. I was very quiet, to the point where I was invisible. When people don’t notice you, it has consequences,” the 35-year-old shares. She repeats to the participants, “You speak to be seen and heard.” The Bab el-Hikayat workshops are much more than an artistic space.
Soumaya, 41, was going through a difficult period mentally, and the workshops helped her overcome these problems. “I’ve gained confidence in myself and learned to express what I feel in the right way,” she says after her performance. Two of her students, whom she teaches English literature at university, came to watch her. “Your voice is amazing!” one of them exclaims, congratulating her.
The stories are interspersed with songs performed by Ahmed, a loyal member of Bab el-Hikayat, and the audience enthusiastically sing along. It’s Dalia’s turn, also a regular, to step forward and take the floor. This is the seventh time she has faced the audience—an accomplishment for a woman who considered speaking in front of others a challenge, especially during the workshops. “I was afraid of being judged by others. But not speaking up is even worse. I learned to accept differences of opinion.” The forty-something woman retraces her journey: when she was younger, she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind when she felt it was necessary. But things changed when her school choir leader asked her to leave the group overnight, without any explanation. “I didn’t understand,” she says, “but I didn’t want to go through it again, so I kept quiet.” Hands shaking and struggling to find words, Dalia relived this kind of situation multiple times in school, even at university. Bab el-Hikayat freed something inside her.
Over the course of the workshops, Horia observed that it was often more difficult for men to express their feelings, some seeing it as an attack on their virility. “Often, they start talking about food, or their childhood sweethearts. They need time to talk about deeper things,” the artistic director points out. She was recently trained in psychology to better support her learners. These workshops sometimes lead to a better mutual understanding of gender. “One participant came to me one day at the end of a session and said that if he had known about this initiative before, he would’ve participated years earlier, and his life would have changed because he would have been able to understand women differently,” Horia recalls.
Group therapy
Members of the Alexandria community came all the way to Cairo to support the narrators. There were also many relatives in the audience, like Saoussan, the mother of one of the participants. “When I hear their stories, it’s like I’m living it with them. It’s not just about memories. It’s something that comes from the heart.” Triggering this identification in spectators is one of the desired effects during these performances. Horia describes Bab el-Hikayat as “a theater that looks like us,” a space where messages are transmitted and where everyone can join in. In that sense, Hiba feels a sense of responsibility when she shares her story on stage. “Daring to say something that others can’t, it’s like group therapy.” This psychologist, who specializes in eating disorders, decided to tell how, little by little, she gave up taking photos of herself after an aunt suggested she “lose weight to look pretty.” “I talk to help myself, but also to help others,” Hiba assures us. In any case, the participants we interviewed all agreed on this point: on a personal level, there was a clear pre- and post-Bab el-Hikayat.
