THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT fiction chronicling the life and times of Egypt and its residents that attracts readers — Egyptian and foreign alike — like moths to a flame, especially when the work is suspected to be romans à clef. Lawrence Durrell’s Quartet comes to mind, as does Alaa Al-Aswany’s Yacoubian Building. In these cases, readers are often more interested in finding out who’s who than in the work itself.

Apart from being entertaining and enlightening, these visions of the past are not truly firsthand reports: Often christened “autobiographies” or “memoirs,” they are written by adults who remember — or believe they remember — Egypt exactly the way it was decades before, but whose memories are necessarily colored by their subsequent experiences. Even more irksome are those authors who are intent on placing childhood or adolescent memories within a historical and political framework, using academic and historical documentation to cater to a readership, rather than consigning private episodes to memory.

There are other voices, too, expressing themselves in the present: obscure foreigners who kept journals of their travels in Egypt, women who longed to be freed from the harem and wrote long letters to newspaper editors, women and men who wanted their political voices heard or who wrote poetry. Hoda Shaarawi’s magazine l’Egyptienne, which sometimes published French verse by amateurs, and the works of Qout El-Qulub El-Demerdashiya, who wrote romantic fiction, are examples of private writing with the ultimate aim of reaching of public.

But very few genuine intimate journals ever reach us, those journals in which anonymous writers document events that only bear significance to them, where the time and place only matter in so far as they are connected to their everyday lives. This is why Irma’s diary, a handwritten, no-frills-added daily chronicle penned by a 14-year-old girl who lived in Suez in the 1920s, is such a precious find.

Discovered at a secondhand bookstall in Ezbekiya, it consists of two slightly damaged and dissimilar volumes for the years 1924 and 1925: a small slice of life expressing private hopes, desires and worries that were never meant to be read by anyone else.

Did she write more? Where did she ultimately wind up? What kind of life did she lead? Is she an old lady in some European city, still vaguely remembering her childhood in Egypt?

Art courtesy Fayza Hassan Regular walks with her parents were a treat for Irma, especially when she was younger.

We will never know.

The first tome of the chronicle is written in a commercial diary produced for the French department store Le Printemps, featuring a page of seasonal advice, tips for better housekeeping and recipes for every month. At the top of every page, an old-fashioned drawing conveys the wise saying of the day, almost invariably a one-liner from a famous French author. Anniversaries and religious feasts are recorded, together with a tiny horoscope.

The girl, who tells us only that her name is Irma, painstakingly keeps her journal in French, writing near-daily with an old-fashioned fountain pen and forming her letters with the utmost care. Considering the number of spelling and grammatical errors, it appears she is not writing in her mother tongue — though she doesn’t mention knowing any other — perhaps for practice, perhaps because she hopes to keep her thoughts private from the prying eyes of a family member.

In the same sort of roundabout way, we find out that her father’s first name is Joseph; her mother bakes special cakes for him on March 19, St. Joseph’s Day.

The author discovered Irma’s diaries, written more than 80 years ago, at a secondhand bookstall in Ezbekiya.

The reliance on French is characteristic of the foreign communities in Egypt during the early twentieth century. French was always spoken — however imperfectly — by Italians, Maltese, Greeks, Yugoslavs, Armenians and the like, whereas the languages of the ‘old country’ were often learned by ear by the younger generations, complete with the inevitable distortions born from long sojourns in foreign lands.

Only from hints about her family and friends is it possible to reconstruct the activities and the environment in which they lived. Irma’s father is not, as one might expect, an employee of the Suez Canal Company: He works in a factory that deals with wood. Several entries describe him coming home exhausted after picking up consignments of imported wood from customs. The family resides on the eastern bank of the Suez Canal overlooking Port Tewfiq, probably in a small apartment building, since the garden that would surround a villa is never mentioned.

They appear to be neither poor nor rich enough to be acquainted with the French elite that lived in the Canal Zone. They have only one servant, referred to as Mohammed, but more often as “the Arab” — especially when he does not turn up for work. Irma describes him as lazy and disobedient. She helps around the house when she is on holiday and repeats a number of her mother’s usual complaints.

Through Irma, the family comes alive — and sounds typical of the numerous foreign communities who lived in the Canal Zone until Gamal Abdel Nasser kicked them out in the mid-1950s.

They could be Italian with family ties in Trieste (she mentions her European family without more details), since they constantly receive packages from relatives residing there, including as dresses for Irma and shirts for her brothers. At one point, though, she writes about having to hand her baptism certificate to the Yugoslav Consulate in Cairo to be allowed to sit for an exam at school. This would suggest she was born in Egypt and needed her papers validated by Consulate. Indeed, the very ambiguity about her nationality is itself consistent with the political circumstances of Trieste, long a point of contention between Italy and Yugoslavia.

Art courtesy Fayza Hassan Up until the 1950s, the Canal Zone was hometo a number of European expatriate communities.

Other members of the family and close friends have Italian and Yugoslav names: Mademoiselle Bartolo, the piano teacher and a friend of Irma’s mother; Madame Smerkinich, another friend; and Anna, Irma’s cousin. There are also the Blumenthals, who carry a Jewish surname, though Irma never identifies them as such. This isn’t surprising, though: Although community ties were important to the foreign residents of Egypt — and to those who, though of foreign descent, had lived in Egypt for generations — religious and national roots were never terribly important between individuals.

All the families Irma mentions live nearby, and there are unending rounds of visiting, sharing chores, group baking, minding each other’s children and partaking in each other’s joys and sorrows. They have nothing to do with the natives — rich or poor — and, clearly, Irma’s family neither speaks Arabic nor has any contact with Egyptians.

More to the point: They seem virtually unaware of their existence.

The Catholic Church is central to the life of the little girl and her mother, but not the men in the family. The two women attend mass (likely in French) every Wednesday and Sunday at seven o’clock in the morning. Irma writes that they once were late and had to attend a mass in Maltese, a language they did not understand at all.

The church is located in Port Tewfiq, as is the convent school she attends and, likely, the brasserie to which her parents occasionally go to meet friends.

Art courtesy Fayza Hassan Irma and her family’s life in Port Tewfiq was much like it would have been in any European city.

Her schoolmates are French, Italian, Yugoslav and Greek, but her class does not seem to number more than 10 girls. She writes in detail about her sewing lessons, which seem to occupy a large portion of the school curriculum and her free time at home. Other lessons include dictation (at which she’s hardly stellar), arithmetic and a little creative writing. The history and geography taught are strictly those of France.

At home, Madame Bartolo teaches Irma piano. When she is not doing homework or piano exercises, she reads the two or three French publications to which she has subscriptions: La Semaine de Suzette, popular for decades with French-educated girls, and L’ami des enfants, complaining that the latter’s published serials are “usually stopped at the most thrilling moment.” She goes quite often to the cinema, the Chantecler in particular, always with one of her friends.

The brasserie also occupies an important place in her life as she sometimes joins her parents there. Friends and young relatives are continuously mentioned in the diary, but it appears that she only sees her French schoolmates in the classroom.

Her mother does charitable work for the nuns and helps the neighbors when they need a hand with a birth or a celebration. She often goes shopping, most often for Irma, who always seems to be getting new dresses and matching hats.

The men — Irma’s father and two brothers, Edouard and Rodolphe, who are in their late teens — have lives of their own, the father mainly working and the two boys learning ballroom dancing and frequenting fancy dress parties at the Italian Club or the “Hotel.”

The older brother is particularly affectionate toward his young sister, staying with her when their mother goes out and buying her candy and chocolates by the box. Irma has a sweet tooth and, while ordinary food is rarely mentioned, she is always ready to wax poetic about cakes and pastries. She is also quite fond of grown-up gossip, which she reports faithfully — who had a baby, who was dumped by her fiancée, who is getting married. It’s easy to imagine Irma leaning over her sewing, not missing a word of her mother’s chitchat with her friends.

The portrait that emerges from the diaries is one of a family leading a provincial life in a Canal city indistinguishable from that which they would have lived in any European city. Local political events have little or no significance for them — and would not until they were ordered out of the country after the Free Officer’s Revolution.

As one might expect, many entries are repetitive or add little to what Irma has already said. Others, though, are invaluable primary sources on the life of a foreign teenager in Egypt during the first quarter of the twentieth century.

Tuesday, 1 January: Hail 1924! I hope you will bring us joy and happiness. We had a good time en famille. My brothers were given as presents: Rodolphe, a wallet, and Edouard, a watch. My father received a wallet, and my mother a bottle of perfume. I was given a lovely box of chocolate, and for Christmas I had already received a sewing kit.

Wednesday, 2 January: Today, after many administrative steps, I was finally able to get my seasonal train ticket. My piano teacher came and was very pleased with the tray mat I gave her.

Thursday, 3 January: I had a very good day with my cousins, who stayed until midday. We played to our hearts’ content. In the afternoon, Maman had to go out and left me at home and I sulked. To cheer me up, my brother brought me a cake and kept me company.

Sunday, 6 January: This morning, I went with Maman to the 7 o’clock mass. It is a pity that the father was preaching in Maltese; we did not understand anything.

We received a postcard from Madame Del Fabro in which she announced that she has had a little boy.

In the afternoon I went to the Cinema Chantecler with Noemie. The drama was very nice. It was called Othelio [sic], and I enjoyed myself.

Monday, 7 January: Today is Greek Christmas, and Port Tewfiq is a little animated. In the evening, just as I was starting to write my diary, the inkpot fell on me and stained my dress, my white stockings and the towel. The Smerkinich [Irma often refers to her mothers’ female friends in such a way] came to tell us that Gracien was going away and that Edouard was going to try to replace him etc, etc.

Wednesday, 23 January: It is the eve of Fouad I’s arrival, and the city is busy. It is a pity that it is very windy: The wind broke a number of electrical lamps, which doubled the task of the poor workers.

Thursday, 24 January: Finally, the King has arrived. In the morning, we quickly went to class to welcome him. We all wore our Sunday clothes and were eager to see him. At around ten o’clock, he came to visit the class. He stayed a few minutes and we managed to see him very well. Here in Suez, we have welcomed him with all the honors: The three bands played around town, and the people were shouting, “Long live the King, Long live the King!”

The king has visited the establishments of the Bon Pasteur, the Italian School, the Greek School, and the Refinery Company celebrated his presence with a five o’clock tea. In the evening, the city was floodlit and there were fireworks. The visit of King Fouad I has left us a good and sweet memory. His great generosity has made a lot of people happy, etc, etc.

Monday, 28 January: Today, the sister made us leave at 10 o’clock because there was a requiem mass for the soul of a French prince who died in Paris. This mass took place in Port Tewfiq because he used to be an ex-president of the Canal Company.

Tuesday, 29 January: This evening, we had the visit of Mrs. and Misses Smerkinich. They informed us that they were leaving on Thursday. They had come to say goodbye, and we were very sorry to lose such a good family. They promised to write as soon as they were settled in their house in Cairo.

Thursday, 31 January: This morning at eleven o’clock, Madame Smerkinich left and Maman went to the station to say her goodbyes. I invited Noemie this afternoon to come to my house, but she was late. Then we went to the cinema where there was a Yugoslav charity performance. I had a lot of fun with Hortense and Marguerite.

Starting February 2, Irma records her expenses in the margin of her diary. It is usually one piastre per day.

Saturday, 9 February: This morning Antoinette, who was ill, has come back to class. She is in perfect health. In the evening there was a fancy dress party but I did not go. My brother went and he told me it was very nice and a lot of people were wearing fancy dresses.

Saturday, 16 February: Today, we did not write a composition, but had an arithmetic problem instead that we all got wrong. Tonight, there is a play at the Maltese Club. It is a comedy that was played in Port Said. After the play, there will be a great ball.

Wednesday, 20 February: Today, Maman has written to her cousin in Trieste telling her to send us a few meters of summer material to make me a dress. I am very happy.

This evening, Madame Bartolo came to give me my piano lesson as usual. She is still upset with Amelia and my aunt. We had the sad news of the death of the old Matsa.

Wednesday, 5 March: Today, it is Ash Wednesday, and there was a special mass in Port Tewfiq at seven o’clock. We arrived at the end, but it is better than nothing. Towards evening, my brother Rodolphe gave me a box of chocolates and another of Turkish delights. He told me that he won at the lottery. He bought the ticket for 5pt. I am very happy because I have to admit I am a little greedy.

Saturday, 8 March: We have received a letter from Sylvie, who always gives us news from Alexandria. The weather is terrible there, and last night it rained and even hailed. There was lighting and thunder that sounded like chains that were breaking.

There is a fancy dress party at the Cinema Chantecler, and my older brother went and said it was great fun, despite the wind and rain.

Saturday, 15 March: Today, the first Parliament in Egypt is opening, and there is a demonstration to celebrate it.

There is a cocktail at the Royal Theater, but none of us is going.

We left school at five o’clock because the sister said that she had to do her housecleaning. Personally, I was very happy.

Sunday, 16 March: This morning, my older brother ordered sandwiches from the berberino who works at the bank. They were excellent. Then we went out with Maman to buy shoes. At the same time, she saw at Spiro hats that she liked. She bought me one that looks very good on me. I hope I will be able to wear it soon. The afternoon was a bit monotonous.

Tonight, we received newspapers from Constantinople.

Tuesday, 15 April: Today, we have received the document from the Yugoslav Consulate. It is well done, but we have to pay 62pt, which is a bit expensive.

Saturday, 19 April: We are onto the last preparation for Easter. We are getting ready for tomorrow and we had a good bath. Maman went out to buy herself her Easter present, a nice watch.

Sunday, 20 April: Finally, the big day has arrived: We went to church early in the morning; then, when we came back, we had a hearty breakfast. Then I went out with Irene and we walked. Back home we ate a good lunch. In the evening, I went for a walk with Papa, and when we came back, we found Mr. and Mrs. Blumenthal, who had come to visit with the children.

During the month of June, the family took a few days holiday in Port Said, and then Irma settled in her “summer mode”: beach in the early morning (5am) in Port Tewfiq, Mass, then piano lessons and devoirs de vacances (holiday homework of which the French establishment was very fond), the cinema, long walks and, in the evening, the brasserie with her parents. She and her family enjoyed a cozy, sheltered life without much soul searching. Time went by slowly, marked by religious and personal celebrations.

The sight of the mahmal and a few street demonstrations mentioned in passing are the only indication that they were aware of living in Egypt and not in Trieste or Paris. Ramadan and the Eids went unacknowledged.

The first volume ends with the following entry:

Wednesday, 31 December: This morning I helped Maman bake the cakes. In the afternoon, Miss Partakis came with the carpenter to fix the balcony, and then I went with the Arab to Madame Bartolo to give her the pillow.

Goodbye 1924, you brought us another year. Let us hope that your successor will bring us joy and happiness.

The second volume is a school notebook, in which Irma marks the date herself. It allows her longer entries sometimes consisting of two or three pages. Her handwriting has matured, and she seems slightly more fluent in French, but only just.

Her older brother, probably chancing upon the diary, pens in a nasty remark about the quality of Irma’s spelling. That and his siding with Maman to prevent Irma from going to see her aunt late in the evening are the occasion of the only two squabbles she has with Edouard, who is turning 17 and looking for a job as a clerk at the Electricity Company.

As is customary, his mother reaches out to friends and acquaintances for the necessary introductions.

The round of parties and balls continue, as do the visits, the walks, the cinema and the stops at the brasserie, but this year, Irma casts a more critical eye on these activities. Now, she criticizes the behavior of her relatives’ young children and often goes to her room instead of playing with them. At one point, she sighs that the Sunday walks she takes with her father and mother always follow the same itinerary: from the brasserie to the Obelisk and then back again. She and her friends become more adventurous: They walk all the way from Suez to Port Tewfiq.

The high point of the year, however, is her trip alone to Alexandria in August to stay with her Aunt Sylvie, who teaches piano in the coastal city.

Wednesday, 5 August: Here I am in Alex for two days now. We left on Monday, 3 August. The trip was very nice, though a bit tiring. A whole group left Suez with Miss Bensilum, Mr. Fontanelli, etc. Here at the French home, everyone is very kind to me. Madame Nony is very helpful, but one is never as comfortable as at home. Monday, I went with Auntie and some other people to the casino at Chatby, and in the afternoon we visited the city a little.

In the afternoon, Miss Parlakis called us, and Auntie and I went to the hotel to receive her call. We went in search of a house and found one, thanks to the real estate agent between Ibrahimieh and Sporting. It’s not bad. There were discussions about the price, and the conferences were endless. They are real Harpagons [one of Molière’s characters famous for his avarice], these women. Finally they decided to take it.

Yesterday, we went with a young lady from the pension to a soirée at the cinema. They were showing Atlantis — it was beautiful. The orchestra was playing and it sounded exactly like that of Mr. Ciclouna, don’t you think? Well, I should not make fun of him.

I took advantage of Tante Sylvie going to give her lessons to write Rodolphe and then write in my diary. The pension we’re in is full because many people from Cairo come here for the summer.

Friday, 7 August: On Wednesday evening, we went to the Casino San Stefano and it was very chic. We came back at midnight and supped in town with a young lady from the pension, Miss Fortunée. There was dancing and a movie, and we had lots of fun.

Interestingly, life in Alexandria is the same for Irma as it was in Suez. The communities’ lifestyles had a similar rhythm: church (a Coptic Catholic church nearby), shopping sprees (“the Galleries Lafayette have announced a sale”), visits to friends and relatives (the Pavlakis, a family who used to live in Suez), the beach, movies and the restaurant or casino in the evening. The famous Athineos is a favorite for ice cream in the afternoon, while listening to the orchestra, and the Belvedere a great place for the fashionable operettas. A visit to Nozha Zoo followed by an ice cream cone at the Brasserie Excelsior is yet another treat.

Compared to the Egyptian girls of her time, Irma has complete freedom, but this is obviously not the yardstick by which she measures her lifestyle: Her August 12 entry reads in part:

Yesterday at the Ramleh station, I met Dominique and we stopped to talk. She has been here a month and will be staying another two. She was alone in the street. And Papa says that her father is so strict! Everybody thinks I am too serious, but I cannot do otherwise. Besides, Papa is proud to have a serious daughter, and this is enough for me. I am nice to everybody, but I could never be like Alexandria’s girls, who are so extravagant and frivolous.

On November 9, 1925, Irma turns 16. She seems less enthusiastic about continuing to write her diary and often lumps a whole week in one entry. By now, Irma is sharing in the grown-ups’ worries: Her father has lost his job. At the end of this second volume, she welcomes 1926 with a prayer that the new year will bring them happiness and joy — and that her father will find a new job.

Where fate took Irma from there, only she and those who knew her or her family in life might know.  et