With few hours remaining until the highly anticipated final, KingFut‘s Ahmed Assem recounted the history behind the Cairo derby between Zamalek and Al Ahly extensively.
“We warn people of the children’s passion for the English game,
Where boys kick a ball in empty spaces
If all attempts to stop them playing fail
Tell their parents and guardians about this farce
Or else house owners will come running after them”
Al Ahram, 1890
It was your usual chilly November night, a Wednesday to be exact, and I – sat firmly in between two friends – was glaring at a worn out projector in a local ahwa, with a nice cup of sahlab to aid my otherwise wretched viewing experience. I grabbed my sahlab, placed it on the table in front of me, and just as I was about to check my phone, the place slipped into absolute pandemonium. The man sat in front of me (the only person in the place with a receding hairline worse than mine) got up, repeatedly slammed the chair, then let out a joyous cry. Another man hugged his friends out of sheer elation, and another man – with his eyes still fixated on the worn out projector – kept pointing to it repeatedly. The reason for the pandemonium was a far cry from Al Ahram’s failed attack on the farcical English game, it was a Wednesday night – a Champions League night at that. But, the people around me weren’t celebrating (or, like myself, visibly not celebrating) a goal scored in the mega-rich UEFA Champions League, this was a moment of individual brilliance under the many floodlights the Cairo International Stadium. Moroccan international Achraf Bencharki, fielding off his marker, found Ferjani Sassi on the edge of the box, and the Tunisian – who netted his country’s only goal against England in Volgograd two years prior – scored with a sublime outside-of-the-boot finish. The midfielder had sent the place into ruptures by scoring Zamalek’s equaliser against Raja Casablanca in the second leg of the CAF Champions League semi-final, capping off a great goal by running to the cameras in a celebration reminiscent of Diego Maradona’s ‘distorted face, bulging eyes’ celebration against Greece at the 1994 World Cup.
As the referee blew his final whistle, and as I finally broke free from the uncomfortable viewing experience, the mood had changed a little bit. There was elation, of course, Zamalek won 3-1, they’d reached the final rather convincingly, none of their players picked up an unnecessary booking; a perfect night for the Whites, only the focus now shifted entirely to the now dreaded night of the 27th of November, because awaiting them in that final, and the only hurdle stood between them and their sixth Champions League title, is Al Ahly. A club they’ve consistently battled against since the early 20th century, in a duopoly that has come to define a nation, and possibly even a region. It would be no exaggeration whatsoever to claim that both clubs are the biggest in the continent – Al Ahly have won the most domestic league and cup titles, followed by Zamalek, Al Ahly are the most titled club in the history of the continent with Zamalek in second, both clubs finished first and second in the African Club of the Century award back in 2000, and both clubs lay claim to having the two biggest fanbases in the Arab World. Perhaps the best person to portray this chasm and how fundamentally rooted it is in Egyptian society was Nobel laureate Naguib Mahfouz in his novel ‘Qasr El Shouq’ or ‘Palace of Desire’ which is set in the years following the 1919 revolution. Kamal Abdelgawad ponders why he always finds himself disagreeing with Hassam Selim – Wafd vs. Al Ahrar, Al Ahly vs. Mokhtalat (the name Zamalek were known as between 1913-1941), Hussein Hegazi (commonly referred to as the father of Egyptian football) vs. Mokhtar El Tetsh, Charlie Chaplin vs. Max Linder.
This portrayal of Al Ahly and Zamalek as being two opposite sides of the spectrum in a novel following the 1919 revolution fits in perfectly with the narrative that’s dominated Egyptian football for a good century. It also opens our eye to a very important detail, that before there was even a blatant duopoly, before both clubs claimed ten of millions of supporters, before the tifos, the sold out Super Cup games on foreign soil – Egyptians were decided on who they were rooting for in the dreaded English game they made theirs. While it is difficult to pinpoint one reason for the rise of the two giants, one mustn’t overlook probably the biggest answer of them all: the 14th of September 1891 – sixteen years and twenty years before Al Ahly and Zamalek were established, respectively. On that day, a child was born in Old Cairo, one year after Al Ahram’s dissing of the farcical English game. His parents didn’t care much about the newspaper’s words – or so we presume – because had they managed to ban their son from playing the game, then maybe football in the country would’ve take another course. Hussein Hegazi was Egyptian football’s first real superstar. He was a cult hero at amateur side Dulwich Hamlet, made one appearance for Fulham in the English second division, and his frequent moving between Al Ahly and Zamalek has constantly been cited as one of the main reasons for the rivalry. Sometimes, he gave idiosyncratic reasons for leaving, such as when he left Al Ahly because their ground did not have a bar where he could practice billiards, but it is exactly these idiosyncrasies which aid the ‘larger than life’ persona he so fully deserves. In ’Pages from the memoirs of Naguib Mahfouz’ by Ragaa El Naqash, Mahfouz – a Zamalek fan – tells the story of when he met a man who introduced himself as Hussein Hegazi’s son, to which the former – in ecstatic fashion – told him “allow me to kiss you, son, your father made me clap until my hands went sore.” Maybe Mahfouz would’ve been happy reading the eulogy written by an English poet in tribute to his football hero, which wraps Hegazi in this mystique that has followed his legacy.
Egypt of course, has a magical history.
Look at her Pyramids – likewise her Sphinx!
Think of her scarabs, ‘wrapt’ simply in mystery –
Sort of a mystical beetle methinks.
Here’s where he bought (they’re enchanted) his boots:
Hussein’s a terror whenever he shoots.
Lazy analysis would often entitle journalists to think that the main reason Al Ahly and Zamalek contest such a fierce rivalry is due to some sort of ideological background. This narrative entails you to think that Al Ahly were indeed an all-Egyptian club (which they were, hence their name which translates to National in Arabic), while Zamalek – or, Mokhtalat (which translates to Mixed) as they were known then – were the ‘royal’ club that incorporated foreigners – and that that’s the difference that brought about a century-old rivalry. However, it is hard to imagine Naguib Mahfouz – who was born in a lower middle class family in Cairo – cheering on a side that represented a socio-economic class he didn’t belong to. The fact is that, these ideological differences may have never been there to begin with. In his book, which attempts to tell the history of Egyptian football, esteemed writer Yasser Ayoub reveals that in actual fact, the first ever match-up between Al Ahly and Zamalek – a friendly game – was the first of its kind. It was a non-politicised game played by Egyptians in love with the sport. A quick glance at both line-ups that day, the 9th of February 1917, and you’ll find 21 Egyptians and a Mokhtalat/Zamalek forward by the name of Nikola Arkaji – a left winger who became Zamalek president, and one of the people who founded the Egyptian football federation six years later. Another esteemed writer, Hassan El Mestekawi, who wrote a book detailing the history of the rivalry between Al Ahly and Zamalek wrote an article two years ago claiming that actually the game that was played on the 9th of February 1917 was a game between Mokhtalat and an XI put together by Hussein Hegazi. Which claim is more accurate? I have not got the slightest clue. But, a quick glance at the line-ups proves that Zamalek were frankly still very Egyptian as well, and if anything, Ayoub’s claim that that game on the 9th of February 1917 was a game played for the Egyptians fits the derby narrative well. After all, Zamalek or Mokhtalat as they were known back then, underwent a massive revolution in the late 1920s, when they banned foreigners from administrative roles in the club. Al Ahly and Zamalek is not a clash of socio-economic classes and it’s not a sectarian divide, but it is – however – one of the several dichotomies that exist or have existed in Egyptian society, where it is frankly inconceivable to be neither. In your national ID card you are either Muslim or Christian (of course, you might be neither but that is never a sufficient answer), in the events post 2013 you were classified as either pro-Sisi or pro-Muslim Brotherhood, and – in football – you are either Ahlawy or Zamalkawy. Of course, there are other clubs, and at one point the question ‘Ahlawy or Zamalkawy?’ did include other sides, such as Samir Sabry’s interview with one of the country’s greatest ever singers, Abdelhalim Hafez, where the latter was asked if he supports ‘Al Ahly, Zamalek, Ismaily, or Tersana?’ But, judging by Kamal Abdelgawad and Hassan Selim’s arguments in Palace of Desire, and Abdelhalim’s answer to Samir Sabry’s question (he gave an assertive ‘Ahlawy’), Al Ahly and Zamalek have almost always been the centre-piece of Egyptian football.
This notion that you are either one or other, and this aspect of partisan support prompted Lebanese writer Salim Lawzi to dub both clubs as ‘the only political parties in the Arab World’, an opinion echoed by writer Youssef Idris. It is also the reason why foreign referees have been called upon rather frequently to officiate this game, with the first time dating back to the 23rd of March 1956, when an English referee by the name of McMillan sent off both Saleh Selim and Helmi Abou El Maaty in Zamalek’s 2-1 win over Al Ahly. Perhaps this is why the biggest scandals have come under Egyptian officiating, because maybe – to the players as well as the fans – you cannot be a complete neutral in a Cairo Derby. In March 1966, Al Ahly players – allegedly led by goalkeeper Marwan Kanafani, brother of Palestinian author Ghassan Kanafani – refused to resume a derby, protesting Zamalek’s second goal scored by Omar El Nour. The result was 30 injuries and part of the stands being engulfed in flames as Al Ahly fans threw ‘stones, rocks, and flaming newspaper’. Four years later, with Zamalek leading 2-1, Al Ahly players, again allegedly led by Marwan Kanafani, protested the penalty kick which led to the White’s second, awarded by referee El-Diba (who’d refereed the AFCON final three years earlier, and has the distinct record of scoring four goals in the final of the same tournament as a player). This time, the chaos was so bad that the Egyptian football federation discontinued the league title, the East Cairo Prosecution ordered footage of the game to take action against the aggressors, and summoned Kanafani, Anwar Salama, Hamada Emam, and Ibrahim El Dessouky for questioning. Kanafani still maintains his innocence however, and in an interview with Al Masry Al Youm back in 2016, he revealed that upon returning from a trip to Iraq, Anwar Sadat met him in person and comforted him, since he was the subject of scathing personal attacks in the newspapers. This wasn’t the first time the leader of the country took interest in derby events – in October 1955, Gamal Abdel-Nasser attended the first Cairo Derby of the 1955/56 season, which ended in a 2-2 draw, an ode to the significance of this fixture.
Even though foreign referees were originally brought in to eliminate any bias, both sets of fans will maintain that they were outdone by refereeing. Only three years after the derby in 1996, when Zamalek withdrew five minutes from time in protest of referee Qadry Abdel-Azim’s awarding of a perfectly good goal scored by Hossam Hassan, Zamalek again withdrew – this time in the fourth minute – in protest of French referee Marc Batta’s sending off midfielder Ayman Abdelaziz. This dichotomy has made this derby drenched in conspiracy, with questions frequently being asked of the integrity of the decision makers, because – naturally, and like the rest of the country – they must favour one of the two sides. For example, Jo Bonfrere claimed that his Al Ahly side lost out on the league title in 2002/2003 on the final day of the season due to ‘orders from upstairs’. This conspiracy theories extends to players and coaches as well – ex-Ghazl El Mahalla goalkeeper Nasser Farouk once claimed that he liked conceding to Zamalek because he supports the club, and Tarek Yehia has been frequently accused of setting out to lose against the Whites, most recently in December 2019 before a game against the club he represented as a player as coach of Tala’a El Gaish. Accused of resting important players before the game against Zamalek, Tarek Yehia’s Gaish side actually won 3-2, which prompted him to tear up in a post-match interview while saying “God granted me a victory over all those who doubted (my integrity).” This video of him tearing up was then used as meme material on social media platforms; another episode in how nationwide this derby is, and how it is so firmly rooted in pop culture in a way that it is almost inescapable.
In his book about the history of the derby, Hassan El Mestekawi recalls an apocryphal story involving Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev, who – upon his arrival to Cairo – was met with a sea of red flags. He looked to his entourage and said: “I didn’t know the Egyptians were that happy to see me,” an Egyptian official then proceeded to interrupt him, saying: “I’m sorry, sir, these red flags aren’t for you – people are just happy Al Ahly beat Zamalek!” One of the many giveaways that this story is indeed apocryphal is that Khrushchev’s most publicised visit to Egypt came in 1964, and the Cairo Derby wasn’t even played in the 1964 calendar year. Anyway, if this story is true in one aspect, it is that this derby is sometimes just plain unavoidable. Big corporations, musicians, actors, films, TV shows – everyone knows how large both clubs are. Stand-up comedy trio Tholathy Adwa’a El Masrah, who operated between 1960-1970, have this famous monologue by the name of ‘Shalo Aldo w gabo Shahin’, which pokes fun at the Egyptian football scene using the names of two of Zamalek’s most famous goalkeepers during that era: Aldo Stella and Abdelhamid Shahin. Iconic derby moments – because they’re so relatable – are also heavily used by companies intending to reach a mass audience. For example, Al Ahly’s 6-1 victory over Zamalek in the 2001/2002 season, the largest ever scoreline recorded in a league derby, brought about an iconic piece of commentary by Medhat Shalaby involving Reds striker Khaled Bibo (who scored four goals that game) and Zamalek defender Beshir El Tabei. With the game at 3-1 – and with Al Ahly in cruise control – Bibo received the ball on the edge of the penalty area, rounded Beshir, before slotting past goalkeeper Mohamed Abdel-Monsef to make it 4-1. Shalaby couldn’t contain his excitement, shouting “Bibo w Beshir (Bibo and Beshir)” four times, and, finally, “Bibo wel goal (Bibo and the goal)” when the ball went in. Coca Cola – twelve years later – used this iconic phrase (and both players) in a Ramadan TV ad as part of their ‘Share a Coke’ campaign, which had both Bibo and Beshir sharing a Coca Cola bottle with their respective names on it. But, perhaps my favourite use of the derby atmosphere in pop culture is ‘Beeb Beeb’, a not so well-known track released by the band Tiba, who describe what the derby is like to those who have no interest in it whatsoever – detailing the cacophonous atmosphere and the taking to the streets to celebrate.
Red flags and white flags
Commotion everywhere
People shouting in the streets “our club is made of steel”
Beeb Beeb (car honking)
Beeb Beeb Beeb (car honking x2)
A million people in the street going Beeb Beeb Beeb (car honking x3)
Several articles and publications try and depict the Cairo Derby as a ‘clash of classes’, with a 2008 article published in The Guardian labelling it as ‘the most violent derby in the world’, a claim I find to have a modicum of truth. This is not a derby where you’ll find an incident similar to to the killing of Rangers fan Pat Rice documented in Simon Kuper’s brilliant book ‘Football Against The Enemy’. Although violence found its place in the stands as early as March 1929, when a Farouk Cup quarter-final played at El Sekka El Hadid’s stadium was abandoned in the 81st minute following an attack on Al Ahly winger Amin Shoair. The events succeeding the violence were detailed by Yasser Ayoub in an article for Al Masry Al Youm written in late 2019.
On the 8th of May 1929, Gaafar Wali Pasha – head of the federation and Al Ahly’s president – gathered all of the notable personnel involved in the sport at the Continental Hotel at Ataba Square. It was then decided that a friendly would be played between both clubs on the 25th of October, and before that friendly kicked off, players stood a whole five minutes mourning the death of Egyptian revolutionary Saad Zaghloul (who’d died two years prior). Zamalek captain Hussein Hegazi then gathered his players and chanted ‘long live Al Ahly’ thrice – Al Ahly players replied by chanting ‘long live Zamalek/Mokhtalat’ three times.
In ‘Pages from the memoirs of Naguib Mahfouz’, Mahfouz himself states that even though football was very important to the public in his time, there were more tapping political issues to be addressed, and they were usually at the forefront of the Egyptian mind. Maybe there hasn’t been chanting for the opposing side since, but in the rare instances when supporters were allowed in the stadium between Port Said and COVID-19, fans – regardless of their allegiance – frequently mourned the death of the 72 Al Ahly fans who perished in Port Said, and then the 20 Zamalek fans who perished at 30 June Stadium three years later. The last of which came in the Egyptian Super Cup in late February 2020 – which saw a sold out Cairo Derby on Emarati soil for the third time in five years; both sets of fans paid tribute to those who lost their lives in the minutes 20 and 74, flashing their phones in unison. That was – of course – before a disgraceful melee ensued following Zamalek’s victory, with young Zamalek winger Emam Ashour delivering a kick to Al Ahly veteran Walid Soliman highly reminiscent of Gerard Butler’s iconic ‘this is Sparta’ scene, and Zamalek captain Shikabala making an obscene gesture directed at the Al Ahly faithful.
One wonders what we’re in store for on the 27th of November, a game dubbed by many as the ‘match of the century’- but, probably more of the same cycle. A ruckus (maybe several of them), lots of swearing on social media, euphoric celebrations, questions asked of the referee’s integrity drawn up by conspiracy theorists that would put QAnon to shame, and so on and so forth. If I were to create an apocryphal similar to the Khrushchev story just to depict the magnitude of this game, I’d probably use the plot of Friederich Durenmatt’s play ‘The Visit’, where a famed billionaire – similar to Claire Zachanassian – returns – on the night of the 27th – to the little Egyptian town she grew up in, expecting to be received with flowers and to the tunes of a trumpet band. She’s instead greeted with silence, until – all of a sudden – the town is sent into ruptures. Looking at her entourage, she says: “I didn’t know I’d be greeted to that sort of eruption,” until a villager emerges from the dark, looks at them – puzzled – and says: “What are you doing? The game hasn’t finished yet!”
When asked about the final, Mohamed Salah – Egypt’s biggest ever footballing export – cheekily grinned and revealed that some people know his allegiance, but he won’t reveal it, which is a customary stance taken by lots of sportspeople in the country in order to stay neutral. The bigger picture, though, is amidst the crumbling football infrastructure, the fanless stadiums, and the threat to domestic football posed by the riches of the European game – Egyptians from all four corners of the globe – even the one who plays for Liverpool – will withstand the most uncomfortable viewing experiences to watch 22 men. Eleven of them dressed in red, and eleven dressed in white. Like it always has been, and like it always will be.
A special thank you goes out to all the people that helped me – in one way or another – write this article. In no particular order: Mohamed Assem, Ali Tohamy, Karim Hassan, Mostafa Asaad, Karim El Hedeeny, Youssef Elwi Ahmed Walid, Omar Sherif, Mohamed Adel, Mohamed Rashwan, Ali Ghoneim, Mohamed Abdel-Wahab, Karim Abdel-Gawad, Hesham Abozekry.
