Abdel-Rahman Makhlouf

Abdel-Rahman Makhlouf:
A passion for order
There is no man for all seasons, he insists; but cities are his living legacy
Profile by Fayza Hassan
I had never met Abdel-Rahman Hassanein Makhlouf before, for he spends much time in Abu Dhabi; but I had become acquainted with his wife. Magda has star quality. She wears the veil creatively, speaks with assurance, asserts her opinions firmly and generally behaves like royalty. She hardly matches the stereotype of a submissive Middle Eastern woman.
Then, this year, I had the chance to be invited to an Iftar attended by the couple, just arrived from Abu Dhabi. Knowing Magda, I was rather curious to meet her husband. My first impression of Makhlouf was that he was the gentlest person I had seen in a long time. Slim, in a strict dark suit, he ate sparingly, spoke little and listened intensely. His smile was communicative, illuminating his face to finally reach the eyes behind the frameless spectacles, where it danced for a while, abruptly disclosing deep kindness, before its owner returned his full attention to the speaker. The idea of being profiled for Al- Ahram Weekly seemed to amuse him hugely and he accepted my request with such simplicity that I awaited the encounter impatiently.
The heavy scent of expensive incense from Arabia seeps under the apartment door as the elevator stops on the Makhloufs' floor. The first impression is that of stepping into an opulent winter garden with the sun streaming from the windows and glowing on the expanses of perfectly polished marbled floor between the carpets. Dark wood and rich upholstery connive to showcase each other. Lush green plants and abundant flower arrangements on the coffee tables complete the impression.
Makhlouf has opened the door himself and there is none of the unpleasant waiting that a number of important people feel they have to impose on their visitors before making their entrance. "I thought about what you were going to ask me," says Makhlouf as soon as we are seated, "and I made a few notes."
This is a first hint at what a methodical man he is. He actually confirms this observation at once: "As a child, I used to enjoy playing with blocks, the ones featuring a large picture that had to be put together. Even before going to school, I had a sense of the order of things, of the harmony prevailing in neatness." Later, his older brothers used to ask him to tidy their desks and toys. Were these the harbingers of a brilliant career in urban studies and city planning? Most probably, says Makhlouf, who thinks that proceeding methodically is one of the golden rules of any work in this field.
His father, the late Grand Mufti, Sheikh Hassanein Makhlouf, used to take the family to Baltim for the holidays, but Abdel- Rahman much preferred spending time in Bani 'Adi, the family's village in Assiut governorate. He loved the rural setting, the way time was divided following the course of the sun, the long days in the fields in the searing heat and the camaraderie of his cousins, who shared his taste for the bucolic. More importantly, he was attracted to the warm relationship that existed between generations. "This kind of closeness is usually lost when the families begin to move to the cities," he comments wistfully, and his father was happy to see him retain strong ties with the Makhlouf "tribe" of Bani 'Adi.
"I used to walk down the narrow alleys, imagining how I could redesign the village to make it serve the inhabitants better, how I could improve on the dwellings, make them more functional," he remembers. In those days, he began to formulate his first ideas on urbanism and work out the relationship between the unit (the village) and its environment, realising that in order to improve on the unit one had to take care of the surroundings first. The circle had to become larger and larger, he says, going from the village to the district, from the district to the area and eventually to the whole country. "I became poignantly aware of the way these things were linked together." Fixing the village alone was like putting a small band-aid on a large wound.
He attended the Faculty of Engineering at Cairo University, moved to the architecture department and in time was able to begin studying the topic that had preoccupied him for so long: urban development and city planning. Now that Makhlouf is launched on his favourite subject, he forgets his natural shyness and only remembers the excitement of these first years when everything was possible and Cairo was there for him to dream of the city's modernisation. A creative fever had taken hold of him and his fellow budding architects. It was like Khedive Ismail's time all over again, they thought, only better. This time there was no question of giving the old city a quick facelift; they were going to rebuild the capital, or even the country, following sound urban principles.
Makhlouf took great pleasure in expounding his ideas to his colleagues and enjoyed the discussions, which confirmed his concepts of comprehensive planning.
As soon as he had graduated, one of his professors, Mustafa Pasha Fahmi, invited him to join him for a year, working for the department responsible for renovation of the royal palaces. It was a very useful experience, says Makhlouf. During that time he had the chance to collaborate with another illustrious architect, Mustafa Shaf'i, who was engaged on the same assignment, and from whom he learnt many of the profession's practical aspects.
Makhlouf is grateful that he came of age professionally when he did, in the second half of the 1940s, because he had the chance to be taught by the best Egyptian architects. The professors of his generation included Ali Labib Gabr, Sherif No'man and Sayed Kurayem, who were in the process of revolutionising the Cairene landscape. They were followed immediately after the war by Youssef Shafiq, Hassan Kamel and Shafiq Sadr, among others: all enthusiastic and gifted architects and teachers, intent on transmitting their expertise to their students. A little later, Makhlouf was fortunate to add the teachings of Hassan Fathi to his growing store of architectural knowledge. Sayed Kurayem, just arrived from Europe, was the first to introduce the discipline of modern architecture, informed by the school of Le Corbusier, which was completely novel in Egypt.
"Most of the distinguished architects who lectured and trained us had studied in France, except for Ali Labib Gabr, who had spent his student years in England," says Makhlouf. "It was a time of great enthusiasm, a sort of architectural revival that followed the war, with ideas coming from Europe and, for the first time, from the United States. More importantly, building had become an Egyptian affair, with Egyptian architects' oeuvres now visible in every part of Cairo."
Abandoning the restoration of palaces, Makhlouf took a position as lecturer at Cairo University. His closest colleagues were Labib El-Sayed and Sami Hassid. The latter was Jewish, says Makhlouf, "but we considered him one hundred per cent Egyptian, proof that in those days we never discriminated between our friends and colleagues on the basis of their religion. Hassid was an excellent lecturer and an esteemed member of the faculty whom we all respected for his integrity."
Although he enjoyed teaching thoroughly, within a year or so, Makhlouf began to think of acquiring his PhD, following the normal track of faculty members. He went to his mentor, Ali Labib Gabr, for advice. "Go to Germany," Gabr told him without hesitation. Makhlouf had had Zurich in mind, but Gabr was adamant. "Germany was destroyed during the war and it is being reconstructed," he emphasised. "If you want to see urban planning and architecture in the making, that is where you have to go."
Taking his professor's advice, Makhlouf travelled to Munich, where for six months he concentrated on learning the language. "I had been advised to try to befriend a German national and thus be forced to speak with him in his language, but I did not think it a good idea. Every family has its idiosyncrasies, its own formulas, and its favourite topics. I did not want to be confined to what any given group had to offer. I took classes at the Berlitz School of languages, went to movies dubbed in German, and read all the German papers every day, even if at first I did not understand a word. I listened to the radio constantly to acquire the rhythm of the sentences, and soon I was interacting with people in the street and in restaurants. As soon as I was fluent enough, I enrolled at the University of Munich," says Makhlouf, with obvious satisfaction at his plan's success.
He spent four years in Germany, without returning home once. "I was on a mission: I had to get my PhD as fast as possible; there would be plenty of time to go home afterwards. Besides, I was fascinated by what was taking place before my eyes," he says. "To see the destruction that the war had wrought on the German cities, to notice how the buildings had been burnt and razed to the ground, to watch the clean up operations still taking place... and then, three or four months later, lo and behold, a complete new building would have risen, literally from the ashes. I realised how energetic and serious a people the Germans were. They knew what they wanted and how to go about their job. I was amazed at the fervour displayed by those implicated in the work of reconstruction, the attention brought to the task of rebuilding the cities exactly as they had been. It was really impressive. Strangely enough," he muses, "only Hanover did not follow the trend of traditionalism, and was rebuilt on a totally different and modern basis, evidence that Germany was also open to new ideas and also to the powers of persuasion of the city's planner, who believed in modern, US-inspired trends."
Makhlouf thoroughly enjoyed his studies at the University of Munich. The professors were architects who had their offices on campus and he had access to them any time he needed. They taught at the university, but were also involved in the national reconstruction project. Their attitude inspired him: he burnt to come back and start on projects that would be useful to his own country. More than practicing what he had learned, he wanted to teach it to future generations of architects. It seemed to him the greatest gift he could give his country, providing it with soundly trained young men and women who would in time pass on their knowledge to newcomers. He therefore chose a theoretical topic for his dissertation, which nevertheless included a practical angle: he directed his research toward the history of city planning. At the same time another idea began to take hold -- that of creating a dictionary of architectural and urban planning terms for his students, in Arabic, which he eventually completed. "'I coined many of the terms used today," he says in a rare show of pride.
When Makhlouf returned from Germany in 1957, he began to think about the various principles of sound urbanism that he had been able to witness. He had learned that good city planning involved three levels. The first was the power at the top, i.e., the government; the second was that of the planners, architects, etc., involved in the project itself; and the third was the people for whom the city was planned. If the three entities were not convinced by the project, there was no need to proceed. He remembered the case of Hanover with the architect responsible for the planning of the city giving numerous conferences and talking to people before embarking on a project and never resting until he had gained approval for his idea. It was not enough to have a good plan; one had to be able to sell it to those who would benefit from it. The city was for the people who lived in it, he always remembered.
Circumstances were to take Makhlouf away from Cairo before he had time to apply his newly acquired knowledge fully, however. Sayed Kurayem called him soon after his arrival with an offer: Would he like to be an expert in urban planning at the United Nations? Before leaving, Makhlouf had wanted to work with Kurayem, whom he admired. The great architect had been retained as a consultant by the UN and given the task of designing a complete urban plan for Jeddah in Saudi Arabia. Since Kurayem was a busy man, he needed someone to do the work in Jeddah, albeit under his distant supervision. Makhlouf therefore agreed to become his collaborator, carrying out the surveys that had been requested by the organisation. He left in April 1959, at the time when Saudi Arabia was undergoing momentous changes. It was his chance to apply the theories that he believed in with a maximum of freedom. He dealt directly with the ruler and was given virtual carte blanche to prepare the blueprint that would transform Jeddah from a small city in the desert into an ultra-modern metropolis.
Here Makhlouf becomes very serious, asserting that for any enterprise of this calibre to succeed, an independent department of experts has to be created -- the executive branch of the project -- which will ensure continuity and ascertain that the rules are duly followed. Of course this department has to be amenable to close cooperation with the authorities at all the various levels, but its experts have to strike a difficult balance between compliance and independence. City planning is not a static science, he insists. Circumstances change, the number of inhabitants increases, the infrastructure has to be maintained and modernised. This is accounted for in the original plan, which must allow for normal growth. Without a permanent authority that has been established from the start with clearly defined duties and powers, no long-term planning can be achieved and only chaos will result -- and chaos is something that Makhlouf abhors. This is why he took the trouble of forming an administrative centre of expert urbanists in Jeddah, and later in Medina and Riyadh. I try to mention that those who have visited these cities wax lyrical about their planning, but only elicit a non-committal smile. He reverts to his endearing modesty when I suggest more forcefully that he has been instrumental in the urbanisation of Saudi Arabia. "I only did what I was trained to do, which I happened to love," he says, anxious to change the subject. He nevertheless feels compelled to add that cities evolve, they are in constant movement and that no one can boast having planned a city for any length of time. Cities go through phases, are altered, extend, and not always in the way planners predicted. Look at Cairo, after all...
He only left Saudi Arabia when he felt that he had given it his all. "There is no man for all seasons," he says, and wisdom begins with knowing when one has to move on. Move on he did, to Abu Dhabi, this time called by Sheikh Zayed, whose country was being catapulted into the 20th century. Once again, he was given free reign to exercise his talent. Today, Abu Dhabi is a model of sound urban planning. To mark his appreciation, the Sheikh has presented Makhlouf with citizenship. Satisfied, his task accomplished, Makhlouf has opened his own consultancy firm, and divides his time between Cairo and Abu Dhabi.
Recommend this page
© Copyright Al-Ahram Weekly. All rights reserved