Lubna Abdel Aziz

When I was a child, my parents lived in Minnesota among several other foreign students. Two of their friends were Lubna Abdel Aziz and her husband, Dr. Ismail Barrada, who was in medical school at the time. I remember admiring Auntie Lu’s freshly scrubbed, creamy complexion, her warm smile, and, above all, her brilliant green eyes neatly framed by thick, dark lashes. Even in Capri pants and a button-down shirt, she looked stunning. She would wrap her arms around me and coo, “Ya rohhi,” whenever I came to her, making me feel immediately safe and content. To me, Lubna Abdel Aziz was the picture-perfect image of style, beauty and grace.

I never realized that Auntie Lu was such a lauded and beloved star. My parents mentioned it to me once or twice, but I was raised in the United States, and the only famous people I cared about at the time were Shawn Cassidy and John Travolta. When I finally saw Abdel Aziz again, in Cairo, I realized just how famous she really was.
Fast-forward 25 years. It is now 2000, and when I discovered Auntie Lu had moved back to Egypt, I jumped at the chance to meet with the beautiful woman I remembered so fondly from my youth. My image of Abdel Aziz was not shattered. Sure, the years have passed, but her eyes are still a beautiful green, her figure just as lovely, and her grace is unadulterated. For someone who hasn’t acted in more than 30 years, Lubna Abdel Aziz still looks like a movie star. She doesn’t just walk into a room, she glides. Heads turn as she walks by. Everyone near her whispers and gestures in her direction.

Perhaps part of her movie star aura comes from the homecoming she received upon returning to Egypt (after not visiting for more than 17 years and not living here for more than 30). "I had no idea that anybody remembered me," she says. "I personally had forgotten my past, so how could anyone else remember it? My reception was so fantastic. People would stop their cars on the street, roll down their windows, and shout, ‘Humdillah Salama!’ People would greet me and call me by my film names. They would recite passages from my movies."
The homecoming continues to this day. Even as she walked through the Nile Hilton on the day of our interview, onlookers would smile warmly and say, "You light up the place" in Arabic. With each comment, Abdel Aziz smiled gracefully and thanked them for their kind words. Although a star, Abdel Aziz is one of the few who knows the value of her fans. I asked Abdel Aziz how it felt to be admired and noticed after all these years. She explains her mixed emotions; "I was very happy and surprised, yet shocked. I felt very gratified that I had done a body of work that had lasting value, and that people are still talking about. It amazed me!"
Moviegoers are not surprised at all by Abdel Aziz’s everlasting appeal. First, she had an obvious talent. More importantly, however, she portrayed feisty characters such as go-getters and freedom fighters. Fans of Abdel Aziz are devoted to her works mainly because each of her characters had a message for the Egyptian public: Stand up for who you are, express yourself and exercise your freedom of thought. One of her most popular films, "Ana Horra," (I’m Free) could easily be called Abdel Aziz’s motto, because her own life mirrored this struggle for freedom. "I was conscious of the struggle of my generation for independence, self- fulfillment and freedom of thought. It’s not that I advertised or promoted these things." It was just a natural part of her that you can feel now in her essence as she explains, "I wanted to be independent in my thinking, my mind had to be my own, and you could not force your opinion on me. As long as I respect my society and I don’t do anything to offend anybody, I should be allowed to have my rights," she says with a strength of character indicative of how she shook the cinema in the past.
Abdel Aziz made sure that each role she accepted had these elements in common. "Even if the part was alien to me, [I accepted to play it] as long as the voice had something to say," she states. "[In some films, actors] give speeches. I feel it is the action, it is the story itself, which gives the message, and not the speech. Anyone can give a speech. It’s how you convince indirectly within the core of the story, without realizing it, [so moviegoers] come home and say, ‘This is right.’ And that was my aim at the time."
The messages she gave to her public were heard loud and clear, she struck a chord and Abdel Aziz became a highly successful, enormously adored star.

In a twist of fate and much to her fans dismay — at the zenith of her career — she married, moved to America and became a mother of two girls. The question every Egyptian wanted to ask was "Why?" "I didn’t [want to leave]," she says, (almost apologetically) adding that she signed a three-year movie contract before her departure from Egypt. "The idea was that [Barrada] would go and I would visit, and he would visit, and I would continue to work."
Rewind 33 years. The dawn of Lubna Abdel Aziz began somewhere around the age of 19. She was awarded a Fullbright Scholarship to earn her master’s degree in theater arts from the University of California, Los Angeles (UCLA). She packed her bags and boarded a luxury cruise ship to New York. It was an aberrant and brave move for a woman her age at that time to be going abroad alone, but it was true to her character. Abdel Aziz was determined to better herself and learn her craft. "I wanted to act," she says, and this was her courageous step in broadening her horizons and learning to the best of her abilities.
She finished her studies 20 months later and returned to her homeland. Shortly after, Abdel Aziz began writing for Al Ahram newspaper. She had established a relationship with the publication (her father, Hamed Abdel Aziz, was an editor at the paper) while in Los Angeles, writing stories from time to time about life in the "City Of Lights." The editor at the time, Osman El Antabli, asked her to write a comparison of American film studios to Egyptian film studios. "I told him I had never been to an Egyptian studio," recalls Abdel Aziz. El Antabli said, "All right, I’ll take you to one." The two of them went to Nahhass Studio where she was introduced to the renowned producer Ramsis Naguib. People at the studio began whispering about her and asked if they could take a few photos of her. They did, and that night offered her a one-year contract with the studio. "When I got the offer to act, I went to my father and said, ‘Do you believe this?’" she says. She was simultaneously offered a job at the American Embassy and was unsure which to accept. She asked her father to help her make a decision, and he responded, "Help you? After all the liberty I’ve given you your whole life, you want me to help you today? I’m sorry, but this is your decision. Whatever you do, I’ll support you." Abdel Aziz smiles at this memory and says, "He was a wonderful man. Everything I am, I owe to my father. He was so progressive in his thinking. He was 20 years ahead of his time."
Abdel Aziz, also years ahead of her time, decided to give the studio stint a try. What she did at the time was virtually unheard of in her or her family’s circles…It was one of the brave steps that seem to define her personality…She hoped she would open the door, for others to follow in her footsteps. "I never wanted to say, ‘I could have, I should have.’ After all it was her true dream and the thing that led her all the way to America to study with a passion. Finally I signed the contract with producer Ramsis Naguib. The provision was that if I wanted to make more movies, it would be with him and [all decisions were] up to him."
The first film she made with him was "Al Wisada Al Khaleya" (The Empty Pillow), also starring Abdel Halim Hafez. The story involved a simple girl (Abdel Aziz) who fell in love with a young student (Hafez). The girl’s mother forced her daughter to marry another man, which she did, reluctantly. Hafez’s character was devastated by her marriage, and when he slept at night, he would envision her image on his pillow next to him. "[By chance, the movie] was the ‘Gone With The Wind’ of Egypt," says Abdel Aziz, recalling the film’s vast success.
About a year after they met, Naguib and Abdel Aziz married. It is a memory Abdel Aziz doesn’t mourn (their marriage lasted only three years) yet she does not speak much about the subject today. Instead, she focuses on her marriage to Barrada, who is the father of her two children, Gigi, 31, and Dina, 26.
Lubna met her husband, Dr. Ismail Barrada at the studios of Cairo radio station. She was recording "Auntie Loulou" for Children’s Corner (which she has since resumed after returning to Egypt last year), when her piano player informed her he was leaving to tour Europe. "I said, ‘What am I going to do?’ and he said, ‘I’ll send you someone good."
He sent Barrada. Barrada was in his last year of medical school, and the two just hit it off. "I didn’t want to remarry, but he was relentlessly after me. We finally married, but he didn’t want to stay [in Egypt]. He was restless and unhappy. It was a bad time in history," she says.
A return to the U.S. was not the experience it was when she was 19, following her dream and pursuing her theatre major in sunny California. For one, they moved to Minnesota, a state in the middle of the country that is known for its frigid temperatures and heavy snowfall. "It was very tough," she says, remembering her move. "It was a big dive. You go from the pinnacle of success and luxury and [have intense] adulation by the public, and money and maids and a chauffeur. And then you go [to the US], and the place we had to sleep that first night was a one bedroom apartment in a dinky town-a student
residential area. It was so filthy. It was awful!" It took some time for her to grow used to living in America. "I used to pack every night, nine suitcases, and Sam would come home from work and I would say, ‘I am going back.’ Every night!"
Day by day, Barrada convinced her to stay. Although she didn’t act again, Abdel Aziz did work for a short while before giving birth. She applied at the state’s public radio station, and was offered a job as the host for a show called "Personal Portraits." She interviewed
writers, television personalities and artists who came into town. But after the birth of her first daughter, Gigi, Abdel Aziz became a full-time mother and did not continue working. She longed for the days when she was a well-known movie star, but eventually grew to accept her life in America. "It’s not that it was ever OK until much later," she admits, "but when I had a baby, I focused on my child, and that became my whole life." Her children became her new passion and she poured her love into them as she had done with her characters.
During our interview, a young woman sitting at a nearby table smiles and waves to Abdel Aziz. She returns both the smile and the wave. "Do you know her?" I ask. "No," she says, still smiling. The girl cannot be more than 17, I note, and I ask Abdel Aziz how she feels knowing that the younger generations of Egyptians admire her work. "I should have been totally forgotten by now," she says. "I’m lucky that I made a body of work with lasting appeal. I was lucky to pick the right projects. Some people have made 100 movies and you can only remember a few... I made 17 movies and you can remember at least 10, so that’s a very big percentage of success compared to others. And of this I’m very proud indeed. I have always wanted quality and worked hard for it. It is perhaps the bravest thing I have ever done. The second bravest, was leaving it all, and walking away…"
One would think that all that hard work should not go to waste. But Abdel Aziz is not in a hurry to resume her career in Egypt. "I had plans to do a television program. For some reason, until now, it just never materialized. I have started reading scripts [again]. People are excited because they think of me as a new face," she says.

A new face, perhaps in a way, but the same strong woman with the backing of all the more "life" experience. She can now continue, recreate herself and inspire audiences with what she holds bravely dearest to her, her precious freedom of thought.

Pull quotes:

“I had no idea that anybody remembered me, I personally had forgotten my past, so how could anyone else remember it.”

“Everything I am, I owe to my father. He was so progressive in his thinking. He was 20 years ahead of his time. He was a wonderful man. ”

“I felt very gratified that I had done a body of work that had lasting value, and that people are still talking about. It is perhaps the bravest thing I have ever done. The second bravest, was leaving it all, and walking away…”