The Last Storyteller in Damascus at the Al-Nawfaraa Coffee Shop

He wears the traditional robes and Tarboosh (aka think Masonic or Lion's Club) hat. He jibes the crowd, slapping his white stick if they stop listening, posing for photos with a quirky, inquisitorial expression. He pulls out his cell phone and photo's us photoing him – all while telling stories from a thousand and one nights ago. There is sword play, and a beautiful woman. There is a happy ending and the Arabic speaking portion of the crowd cheers. He sits high upon his thrown, enthralling the crowd the way a master can.

The story goes that the storytellers, or hawakstis, once filled the streets and coffee shops as as far back as the 12th century. Now there is only one, Abu Shady, and he sits in front of me now, laughing, joking, smiling, and making fun of us foreigners. A blonde girl walks in late and is seated in front of him. He stops and makes a face at her interruption. “Where are you from?” he asks. She's American. Pause..... “Obama!” and he smiles and goes back to his story. I think Obama is the number one word after America, like hot:cold, up:down, right:left, Tom:Jerry, America:Obama. I'm not complaining. It's a good change. He tolerates us, but he plays up to the locals more, in a call and response fashion.

Radio and TV's started to replace the storytellers and now, Egyptian music videos fill the void. But he has been quoted to believe the tradition will not end with him and that things are picking up.

Traditions come and go and come again. I, for one, hope this one stays.