Salam ya 3am Mahfouz

Naguib Mahfouz, one of the greatest and most prolific writers in the Middle East, and more importantly the spiritual grandfather of all Egyptians, died today in Cairo. That he also happens to be the Nobel prize for Literature Laureate of 1988 - the only Arab to have obtained this disctinction - is, to us, secondary. He has always been.. bigger than any distinction or award anyone could ever give him.
He was just... Mahfouz, and that was enough.

There is more to his death than just a celebrity passing away. He was 95 years old, and had suffered from chest ailments for a while.

But Naguib Mahfouz was, to me at least, a sort of certainty. He's always been there. He's been in the living memory of my generation ever since we were learned what books were, and his quiet presence, despite his old age and his much reduced literary production after his assassination attempt (a decade ago, was it?) which damaged nervous terminals in his neck and impaired his sight and hearing.
We haven't been seeing him too much lately. He was less and less seen in his favourite cafe downtown to have a tea with his friends, chat with young writers, and offer a smile and exchange a few words with the readers who couldn't contain themselves and had to go shake his hand...

But his cafe has always been there. The Cairo he described, people's Cairo, has always been there. And so have his books. Few books have been integrated in the egyptian collective identity: he wrote most of those. People would reference his character in their speech, quote the lines they learned from the films made of his books, as if they were talking of a common friend, without being accused of playing it pretentious or intellectual.

Ramses square will remain Ramses square, even now that they removed the gigantic statue from its centre.
And Cairo will always be Naguib Mahfouz's, even if his quiet smile and his deep, wrinkled eyes no longer look after it.
Somehow, great men never leave.

Good bye, Grandpa.