Abu Ali and the Culture Shack

Did I ever mention how much I love Abu Ali and his little "Arab Culture Shack" in the heart of downtown (right on the corner of the alley where you find Habibah's yummy Knafeh)? He is one of those people with whom you can have the most interesting cultural, social, or political conversations. He sits there surrounded by stacks and stacks of books, reading, while customers and passers-by browse the collection on display, on the shelves and the pavement. I have never gone there and left empty-handed, and what I love about him is that you ask him about one book, and he recommends another dozen that suit your taste or particular quest. He knows what he's talking about. He is amazingly well-read and cultured.

(picture scanned from JO, August 2004 issue)

In a very interesting post, Dr Marcy Newman links to an article about him in the New York Times last year. Luckily the full article is available on the blog "Kumbaya Dammit", since you now have to pay in order to read it in the Times.

"Only the mind can conquer the Kalashnikov," he says…

Abu Ali is in the business of open minds. For the past 33 years, he has held court in his bookshop, which he calls a shrine to Arab pen and culture. Distinct from the other newspaper kiosks that line the street above and below his, Abu Ali's Culture Shack is a bookstore first and an open forum second, a brave meeting ground for Amman's intelligentsia who grew up alongside Abu Ali in the heady days of Arab nationalism.

This 64-year-old man was forced to leave school in 5th grade, and started selling newspapers on the streets. This was upgraded to a small 'carpet' on the pavement for magazines and newspapers, and then, in 1970, his dream was realized when he got a lease from the Press Union for a 9-foot by 9-foot shack. He's been there ever since. And he loves what he does.

JO magazine did an interview with him some year and half ago, and quoting from there:

Whereas most people do what they have to do in order to make a living, Abu Ali feels privileged because he does what he wants to do. The serenity that characterizes Abu Ali's disposition rises from the fact that he considers being a literary medium his true destiny. The fact that the kiosk is not exactly a financial goldmine does not seem to bother him, "this is very important to me, I wish to be nowhere else."

He made sure that all of his 9 children get a college education. None of them work with him, and he's not bothered with leaving them a financial legacy, because he believes education is the most important thing.

The other day I told him that I have an American friend who is learning Arabic, and who is looking for some Arabic books which have been translated into English. I mentioned that some people recommended Ghassan Kanafani because it is not as difficult for a learner as, say, Naguib Mahfouz or Ahlam Mustaghanmi, and he gave me a happy approving look and went to get me the best of Kanafani. He brought them along with a bunch of other books, and then on top of it, he included a book titled "Arabic for English Speakers", which he insisted is "a present from me to your friend who is learning Arabic. Bring her here next time to enjoy more Arabic books."

Nancy, I don't know if anyone can possibly turn down an invitation from Abu Ali ;)

Anyways folks, do read the New York Times piece, it is very interesting. And to wrap up this post, I quote from JO again:

"I do not sell books, magazines, and newspapers," states Abu Ali firmly; "I provide books, magazines, and newspapers because I am a link in a long chain of support for readership and learning." In the nucleus of Amman, the balad, Abu Ali settles back into his chair reading Edward Said's memoirs as a young women flips through a stack of magazines. In their own subtle way, Abu Ali and his shack are monuments of optimism and determination; making a difference one book at a time.