Throughout the film festival, we’ll be bringing you bitesize, behind-the-scenes, blogs to read. Written by Ja’far ‘Abd al-Hamid, a writer-director, with a focus on Arab British stories. His latest feature film, Kal & Cambridge, is scheduled for release next year.

Explore the full programme here, SAFAR Film Festival runs from 29 June to 9 July across 9 cities in the UK.

I am pulled out of my thoughts by the sight of a familiar booklet in the hands of a young woman standing on the down escalator at Holborn Station.

It’s the SAFAR Film Festival programme.

I wish I could overhear what she says to her male companion; judging by her facial expression, an opinion is being shared.

At the station exit, I unfurl my umbrella before walking into the wet summer evening. I overhear a lady speak into her phone. “So, it’s the Kingsway exit, and then turn left?”

I risk being presumptuous and ask her, “The Garden Cinema?”

She nods. We walk in the rain.

“It’s my first time at this cinema. My niece invited me; she’s waiting for me with one of my children.” She speaks in the distinctive Egyptian, perhaps Cairene, accent that is known across the Arab world, thanks to the prolific film and TV industry of her native land.

I address her in the deferential “hadhratik”, the formal second pronoun used mainly in Egypt in everyday conversation, as a form of respect. “Have you seen any other films at this year’s festival,” I venture, as we cross the four-lane wide Kingsway to Parker Street. “Yes, I watched From Cairo; I really liked it,” she replies.

I am sure the director of From Cairo (2021), Hala Galal, would appreciate the effusive feedback.

Set in a crumbling old villa in the middle class Masr Al-Jadidah (Heliopolis) neighbourhood of Cairo, 19B lets the viewer in on the morning rituals of the old caretaker of the property, played by Sayed Ragab. He carries an old radio cassette player from his bedroom to the veranda overlooking the front garden of the house.

He turns the dial to a radio station that appears to specialise in classic Egyptian music going back to the 1930s. Through the crackle come the memorable voices of Mohammed Abdel Wahab, Asmahan and Umm Kulthum, perhaps evoking the heyday of the neighbourhood and, indeed, the villa.

Sipping strong tea from a glass mug, the caretaker watches the street come to life outside the perimeter of the property. Amongst the regulars in the thoroughfare is Nasr, a young man who’s fresh out of prison. He runs a gang of street parking attendants who help residents find a space for their vehicles. He also trades in smuggled goods.

The slightly anticipated trajectory of the narrative, and perhaps the inevitable clash between the elderly caretaker and the gang leader, at some level grant the viewer an additional pleasure in following the choices the filmmaker makes en route to the culmination of the story.

As the lights come back up, I see what I take to be a family of Londoners a couple of rows behind me.

“What did you think of the film?” I ask, to their surprise.

“Really good!” The daughter is happy to share.

Her parents add, “it was nice to see Heliopolis in the film.”

It turns out, the British family used to live in Cairo, between the 1990s and early noughties.

“I went to school there until I was 14,” explains the young lady.

As I walk into the lovingly recreated 1930s bar outside the auditorium, I get talking with a fellow viewer.

It transpires that she has attended almost every screening at this year’s SAFAR. I am so impressed; I have found a comrade in the land of film festival marathons.

We compare our respective bookings for the remainder of SAFAR, before we say goodbye.

I almost say out loud, “see you at the pictures!”