In the small village of Saqiyat Abu Sharah, in the Menoufia province of Egypt, the rhythmic clatter of looms once defined daily life.
Known for its intricate handmade carpets, the village was a hub of artistry, its rugs coveted around the world. But today that work has slowed, replaced by the hum of machines and the whispers of an uncertain future.
Atef Salah Abdel Razek, 42, owns one of the few remaining factories for handmade-carpets in Saqiyat Abu Sharah. The village, he recalls, was once synonymous with exquisite silk carpets.
“Ten or 15 years ago, every carpet produced here was made of pure silk,” Mr Abdel Razek says. “Now, due to economic changes, particularly the currency devaluations, we've had to turn to alternative materials like cotton and synthetic blends.”
Egypt, alongside Iran and Turkey, has long been a major player in the global handmade carpet market. But a series of economic upheavals, including the devaluation of the Egyptian pound, has profoundly altered the industry.
Since 2016, when Egypt floated its currency as part of a deal with the International Monetary Fund, the pound has plummeted through five separate devaluations, the latest in 2024.
The cost of raw materials has rocketed, pricing out many craftsmen and buyers. Pure silk, once the hallmark of carpets from Saqiyat Abu Sharah, is now a rare luxury, Mr Abdel Razek explains.
“A square metre of pure animal-fibre carpet today can cost up to 30,000 Egyptian pounds [$600],” he says. In contrast, synthetic alternatives cost as little as 180 pounds a metre.
In 2010, a square metre of a high-quality handmade rug was sold for 2,000 Egyptian pounds. That was about $500 given the exchange rate at the time.
“The kind of customer we need is someone who values things in US dollars,” he says. “For them, 5,000 Egyptian pounds is $100, so it doesn’t feel as expensive.”
This pricing disparity has shifted the industry’s focus. Mr Abdel Razek says that up to 90 per cent of the village’s carpets are now exported to international markets, where customers can afford such luxuries.
Thest are sold locally, primarily to wealthier Egyptians or tourists, at bazaars in cities such as Cairo, Luxor and Sharm El Sheikh.
Mr Abdel Razek’s factory, like many in the village, relies heavily on international exhibitions to showcase its wares. “The state organises regular fairs and so does the private sector,” he adds. “These channels are essential for us. Selling directly to international buyers is rare.”
But even as exports sustain the industry, the craft is in decline. In the 1970s and 1980s, Saqiyat Abu Sharah thrived as a hub for handmade carpets, a legacy that dates back centuries.
The origins of the craft in Egypt can be traced to pharaonic times, with evidence of weaving techniques evolving under the Fatimid dynasty, from 969 to 1171, when silk was introduced as a primary material.
During the Mamluk period, from 1250 to 1517, complex geometric patterns elevated Egyptian carpets to works of art, a tradition that persisted through Ottoman rule, which brought its own augmentations.
By the mid-20th century, Egypt’s post-revolutionary government, under Gamal Abdel Nasser, sought to revive and industrialise traditional crafts, turning villages such as Saqiyat Abu Sharah into production centres. But today, that legacy is fraying.
Rashed Areeda, 49, has been weaving carpets since he was six years old. “It is a laborious craft and it has worsened my eyesight over the years,” he says. “But I love it. It is an art form and an important heritage.”
In Mr Areeda’s youth, nearly every household in the village had someone trained in carpet weaving. “When I was growing up, there was a palpable sense of community,” he recalls. “Workshops were everywhere and the craft was our main source of income.”
But today rising costs and dwindling demand have driven many craftsmen out of the industry. “In order to make money, you have to be taught as a child,” Mr Abdel Razek says. “When you’re young and dependent on your parents, you learn. Then, as an adult, you are proficient enough to earn.”
But with the craft no longer considered a viable career, many young people in the village are turning to other jobs, moving to cities to work as security guards, cleaners and labourers.
Mr Abdel Razek has cut his factory’s operations in half because of a lack of skilled workers. For those who remain, it is not a lucrative job. “Day workers’ wages haven’t increased nearly enough to offset their rising cost of living,” he admits.
But the village’s carpets remain highly regarded abroad, a testament to their quality and craftsmanship. In 2023, Egypt’s handmade carpet exports accounted for more than 6 per cent of the global total, with sales reaching $360 million, the Observatory of Economic Complexity has said.
Turkey led global exports that year, contributing 41 per cent, followed by India and China.
Iran, once the uncontested leader in handmade rugs, has seen its industry falter under international sanctions, accounting for 0.3 per cent of global exports in 2023. This has given Egypt an opportunity to capture a larger share of the market, Mr Abdel Razek says.
But the future of the craft remains uncertain. Today, carpets are often made using synthetic fibres, which are cheaper but lack the richness of natural silk or wool.
This shift has also affected design trends. Until 2020, many of the village’s weavers copied classical Iranian styles, such as those of Isfahan or Kashan. But with the advent of social media, modern designs now dominate the industry.
“The upside of modern designs is that they don’t follow specific rules,” Mr Abdel Razek says. “There’s less symmetry and more chaos is acceptable, which makes them less tiring for workers. There really isn’t a wrong way to do them.”
Still, the industry faces stiff competition from machine-made rugs, which cost far less. “It is understandable that a customer would buy a machine-made carpet that costs a fraction of the price,” Mr Abdel Razek says. “After all, what we’re selling is first and foremost a luxury item.”
This is why many producers, including Mr Abdel Razek, have begun selling machine-made carpets alongside handmade designs. But he remains committed to preserving the traditional craft.
“It is undoubtedly an art form,” he says. “Matching colours, creating intricate details – it requires the same skills as oil painting.”
For Mr Areeda, the craft is a livelihood and a passion, but he acknowledges its challenges. “The hardest part of this job is selling the carpets,” he says. “You’re at the mercy of the market and demand can drop suddenly and you could be left with unsold wares for months on end, or are forced to sell them cheap.”
As Saqiyat Abu Sharah faces these challenges, its future seems tied to its ability to adapt. For now, its carpets remain a symbol of a heritage that spans millennia, a tradition that its craftsmen hope will endure, even amid the relentless hum of modern machines.
