The vagabonds of Damascus past

In light of the spike in mental illness cases in Syria, Al Majalla sheds light on several famous vagabonds in Damascus from the 1950s to the 1990s

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The vagabonds of Damascus past

Sami Moubayed

last update on 05 Jul 2023

Walking through the streets of Damascus in 2023, one sees plenty of people talking to themselves, a natural reaction, no doubt, to all the economic hardships and traumas caused by 12 years of war.

Talking to oneself is commonly associated with being on the verge of madness, and it seems perfectly justified in a city like Damascus, whose residents witnessed prolonged stability and economic growth until things began falling apart in 2011.

According to a 2017 article on mental health in Syria, published in ICRC’s International Review, one million Syrians suffer from severe mental problems caused by the war, and 90% of them receive no medical attention, due to a shortage of trained professionals.

There are no newer numbers available on mental health problems in Syria, but one can assume that the number of people in need of medical attention has risen dramatically since the report was published six years ago.

The report adds that even prior to 2011, there were no more than 120 phycologists in Syria, with three specialised hospitals (two in Damascus and one in Aleppo).

One can only wonder what these people have gone through for them to reach the brink of insanity. And one day, reports and documentaries will be produced about them.

As a historian, I have always been interested in both madmen and vagabonds of early 20th-century Damascus, those who lived through the two World Wars, 26 years of French occupation, and the saga of coups and countercoups that rocked Syria since 1949.

Nothing academic has been written about them and the very little information available has been gathered from mental notes and memories of those old enough to remember them.

Strangely enough, while the cases of 2023 merit nothing but compassion and an urgent need for medical attention, those of previous times are remembered with a light tone of humour.

The people of Damascus speak fondly of them, recalling their personalities with fondness as human landmarks who added colour to the streets of their city.

This article will try to shed light on several figures who were well-known and very popular in Damascus from the 1950s to the 1990s. Most of their real names remain unknown, and so is their medical condition. We also don’t know when they were born and when they died.

The people of Damascus speak fondly of these vagabonds, recalling their personalities with fondness as human landmarks who added colour to the streets of their city.

Al-Malak al-Abyad

An elegantly dressed man used to roam the streets of Damascus in the 1960s, wearing an Ottoman fez and an impeccable white suit with white gloves and white shoes.

He was often spotted next to Qasr al-Diyafa, the presidential guest house at the tip of the palm-lined Abu Rummaneh Street, or next to Bab Touma.

Whenever a woman passed by – young or old, beautiful or not – he would place one hand over his heart pretending to faint, before breaking into an animated monologue accompanied by romantic ballads.

He had memorised all the songs of Egyptian crooner Mohammad Abdul Wahab, a legend of his time and era, and would sing them to the girls at the Franciscan nuns' school in the neighbourhood of al-Shaalan, challenging them to perform a duo with him, taking on the role of Egyptian actress Raqiya Ibrahim in her cinematic performance with Abdul Wahab, Hakim Ouioun.

Damascenes referred to him as al-Malak al-Abyad (the White Angel). Few knew his real name and yet nobody seemed to care. Many considered him simply a wandering vagabond, although al-Malak hailed from a prominent Damascene family.

Whenever a woman passed by – young or old, beautiful or not – Al-Malak al-Abyad would place one hand over his heart pretending to faint, before breaking into an animated monologue accompanied by romantic ballads.

He never asked for money nor did he harm anybody during his long years on the streets of Damascus. When asked why he chose Abdul Wahab's romantic songs he would reply: "Those tunes are not for Abdul Wahab. They are mine! Abdul Wahab stole them from me."

And if convinced to talk further, he would add that he was ready to perform at any wedding party, saying: "Don't hire Abdul Wahab and bring him all the way from Cairo. I will sing for you—for free."

Al-Malak al-Abyad would claim that Abdul Wahab once hired hitmen to assassinate him in Damascus, saying: "I didn't die because I am not human and laws of nature don't apply to me. I am the only angel in Damascus."

My bird, O' Bird

Before al-Malak al-Abyad we had a man known simply by his signature cry: "My Bird, O'Bird." He used to walk the streets of the Syrian capital carrying a stuffed bird and would speak to it in a loud voice, attracting a large crowd wherever he went.

He was tall and clean-shaven, wearing old clothes and wooden clogs on his feet (known as qubqab in Arabic). People would see him standing on Nasr Street next to the old premises of Damascus Radio, saying: "My Bird, O'Bird."

He was neither illiterate nor ignorant, clearly from some of his sayings that carried thin traces of wisdom. One of them went: "We need money and men to help Morocco gain its independence."

But at other times he would utter nonsense, saying: "You there—the one wearing brown. I see you walking away from me. All I want from you is one piaster, My Bird…O'Bird."

Abu Risheh and Zouzou

Not all of these vagabonds were innocent; far from it, some raised serious suspicion among the wider population. One of them was called Abu Risheh and he used to roam the streets of Damascus in the 1950s, wearing a feathered hat, which probably inspired the character of "Abu Risheh" in the 1976 political play "Ghorba," played by the late Syrian actor Nihad Qali.

The real Abu Risheh reportedly disappeared before the Syrian-Egyptian Union of 1958, only to re-appear after it was announced as an officer in Egyptian intelligence — or that at least, is how the popular lore went.

And in the 1970s we had a man known simply as "Zouzou" who was known to be the best window cleaner in Damascus. His talent for window-cleaning brought him into the homes of the upper crust of Damascus until he was found dead at his home — killed for what people said was his secret work for Israeli Mossad.

Abu al-Izz

And more recently, we had a vagabond named Abu al-Izz, who seemed to have suffered from an emotional "shock," caused by his beloved abandoning him to marry another man. That made him lose his senses at a relatively young age, reportedly while studying at the Damascus University Medical School.

He would rise to fame at the gates of the same university, with his landmark signature cry: "Wizz….Wizz…Wizz. Here comes Abu al-Izz." He would mingle with university students, warning young men to never fall in love.

And when hearing that one was about to marry, he would break into hysterical laughter and cry: "And the donkeys have increased by one." Abu al-Izz became so famous that his "sermons" were recorded on cassettes and distributed for free on the streets of Damascus during the 1990s.

Ghaleb and Syria's leaders in the 1950s

We also had a certain wanderer called Ragheb, who would walk around in ragged clothes carrying a thick stick. He would often be spotted at the gates of government headquarters (the Grand Serail) at Marjeh Square, saying: "Tell them that I will accept nothing less than the Ministry of Interior. If they offer anything less, I will bring down the government."

Everybody seemed to love Ragheb, and politicians of all stripes and colours would receive him at their office, either out of pity or for amusement.

Everybody seemed to love Ragheb, and politicians of all stripes and colours would receive him at their office, either out of pity or for amusement.

He reportedly once entered President Adib al-Shishakli's office after he established the Arab Liberation Movement in the early 1950s, with a salute similar to that of the Nazis and the Syrian Social Nationalist Party of Antune Saadeh.

Addressing the president of Syria he would say: "Antune Saadeh's men salute him saying 'Live Syria' and Hitler's men say 'Heil Hitler.' What do your followers say? Hi Adib?"

Shishakli would laugh heartily at Ragheb's crazy irresponsible remarks, always making sure to pat him affectionally on the back before giving him some money, sending him off with the words: "We were honoured by your visit. Come again, Ragheb."

One day, Ragheb saw Prime Minister Khaled al-Azm leaving the Grand Serail and walking into his car. Azm was a five-time prime minister and one of the wealthiest men in Syria.

Ragheb came up to him and said: "Khaled Bey, give me your shoes." Azm smiled and replied: "But my dear Ragheb, do you see it fit that I return home barefoot?"

Ragheb returned the smile, saying mischievously: "With all due respect Khaled Bey, you are riding an automobile. It is I who is barefoot. Now take off your shoes!"

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