"He had once fallen under the spell of a dream, and from that moment on, the memory of that beautiful transgression would pursue him forever—a moment of freedom, of a lightness too exquisite to endure. It would remain, forever haunting him, like conscience itself." — Arwa Saleh, The Stillborn
I doubt that when leftist activist and writer Arwa Saleh wrote these lines, she imagined she was describing how millions of Egyptians would feel for three unforgettable weeks — or perhaps for the past four decades, if not throughout much of modern Egyptian history.
Little Egyptian boy wearing Salah's jersey watching a game between older kids on the banks of the Nile in Upper Egypt's Al-Minya "Ahmed Mostafa"
Egypt's 2026 World Cup campaign was that beautiful dream, and Egyptians could not help but fall under its spell.
Egypt was eliminated in the Round of 16 at the 2026 FIFA World Cup after an epic, deeply controversial match against Argentina. The rest is history.
Eleven days later, I can finally finish this post, which I began writing on 8 July 2026.
Since then, Argentina has defeated Switzerland in another match that raised eyebrows and renewed questions about refereeing decisions, advancing to the semi-finals. It then overcame England in the showdown many football fans had been waiting years to see.
No one could have imagined that so many Egyptians would find themselves supporting England against Argentina.
Yet the impossible happened.
England, too, experienced the same bitter final minutes, marked by controversial refereeing decisions and an unusually physical game.
I cannot imagine how Egyptian and English fans who witnessed both matches felt as they watched history seemingly repeat itself.
It was painful to watch because — bias aside — Egypt played better against Argentina than either team did. That only deepened the inevitable question: What if?
In a few hours, Argentina will face Spain in the World Cup final and will most likely lift the trophy.
It has been a week filled with reactions, endless "what ifs," and the familiar chorus of "Stop being dramatic, you filthy Egyptian sore losers."
Egypt has barely made it, but it made it officially.
Egypt's National Football Team is through to the Round of 32 of the World Cup 2026, for the first time in our football history — and for the first time in World Cup history after a tie with Iran in a football match to remember.
Mahmoud Trezeguet and Ramin Rezaeian
There are many firsts here.
Egypt's qualification for the Round of 32 at the 2026 FIFA World Cup has already become a landmark achievement in our national team's history, setting a series of unprecedented records.
For the first time, Egypt progressed beyond the World Cup group stage, completed the group phase unbeaten, secured a 3-1 victory over New Zealand, and finished second in its group on goal difference behind Belgium.
The Pharaohs also scored a record five goals in a single World Cup group stage, netted their earliest-ever World Cup goal in the sixth minute of a match, and entered their final group game with qualification already guaranteed.
When I saw the Egyptian national team's first-half performance against New Zealand at the 2026 World Cup, I decided to turn off the TV and get some sleep.
It was nearly 5 a.m. Cairo time, and after watching the Kiwis take the lead, it seemed that the old-World Cup curse haunting Egypt was still very much alive.
But my sleep was cut short by screams and cheers coming from the streets.
We had scored a historic equalizer.
The rest is history.
Since its first World Cup appearance in 1934, Egypt not only won its first-ever match in the tournament but also produced a stunning comeback, aka remontada, to go top of its group.
It is Naksa Day, and we are still living with its consequences.
Even in Egypt, despite the 1973 War and the return of Sinai, we continue to live with — and suffer from — its regional repercussions.
We have also failed to learn, or perhaps have forgotten, many of the lessons that we, as Egyptians and Arabs, should have drawn from that defeat — politically before militarily.
The same underlying causes not only still exist in Cairo, but across capitals throughout the Arab world, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Gulf.
These testimonies expose a stark, unbridgeable gap between Israel’s carefully curated collective memory and the brutal reality of 1967.
In other words, they tear away the false narrative propagated by Israel’s military propaganda machine—a myth fed for decades to the Western world and the Israeli public to frame theirs as “the most moral army in the Middle East, if not the universe.”
The leftist-liberal Israeli newspaper revealed that newly uncovered documents indicate that 300,000 Arabs were expelled or forcibly displaced from the West Bank, Gaza, and the Golan Heights amid systemic violence, looting, and wholesale destruction.
Among the leaked files was a 1967 memorandum from Israel’s legal advisor famous judge Theodor Meron, explicitly warning senior Israeli officials that the forced expulsion of Palestinian civilians constituted "a serious violation of the Geneva Convention."
What the Israeli army perpetrated in the Sinai was mentioned only briefly in the Haaretz piece, primarily because those other captured territories remain under Israeli occupation today, unlike the Sinai, which Egypt successfully regained. (I will review the specific atrocities committed on the Egyptian front in a separate, upcoming post).
To be frank, nothing in Haaretz’s report about Israeli war crimes was new to me as an Egyptian, nor would it be new to most Arabs.
Egyptians and Palestinians have been shouting these truths to a deaf world—especially to the West—for nearly six decades.
Yet, despite a mountain of archival evidence and countless firsthand survivor and victim testimonies, much of the global community only began paying attention when an Israeli newspaper published the soldiers and victimizers’ letters.
A Note on Historical Context and Language
Before we dive into the archives, I must clarify an important linguistic choice in my translations. In translating the summer 1967 press reports detailing the tragic exodus from the West Bank, I have intentionally preserved the original text’s use of the terms "Arab refugees" and "Arab residents" rather than modernizing them to "Palestinians."
While a modern audience automatically views these events through a specific Palestinian national lens, the nationalized Egyptian press of 1967 was operating under a dual legacy. First was the linguistic residue of the British Mandate, which categorized the region strictly into "Arabs and Jews." Second was the ideological peak of Nasserite Pan-Arabism, which framed the defense of Palestine not as an isolated local conflict, but as a collective Arab responsibility.
Ironically, preserving this older vocabulary completely dismantles modern Zionist propaganda claiming that Egypt "invented" the Palestinian identity in the mid-1960s. The archival record demonstrates a deeply rooted population whose distinct connection to the land was so universally understood that reporters used the local and regional terms interchangeably.
In his final moment, in his final game as a forward for Liverpool at Anfield, Mohamed Salah — commonly known as the Egyptian King — prostrated himself, performing a Sujood to thank Allah, the Almighty, the King of Kings, before thousands inside the stadium and millions watching via television and platforms around the globe.
Sujood is the closest a Muslim can be to his Creator.
Prostrating to thank God at the peak of your success is a sign of extreme humility and gratitude — a declaration that you have not forgotten who helped you get there.
For me and other Egyptians — we understood exactly what Salah felt in that moment: teary-eyed, with Anfield rocking around him.
It was a truly epic moment, a fitting close to a great chapter in Egyptian, British, and world football by any measure.
Needless to say, there were other unforgettable moments in a match that was, frankly, a welcome escape for me and many others from Trump's ongoing mad show in the Middle East.
It is May Day — Labour Day, aka International Workers Day in Egypt — and I have to say that, despite all the official statements, I am a bit disappointed and angry.
Two weeks ago, Egypt had its own mini–Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and it did not stay in the news cycle for more than 72 hours — or, to be more accurate, the social media news cycle — before it disappeared. And that made me angry.
On 14 April, a tragic incident unfolded in the Ard El-Geneina area of Cairo's working-class Al-Zawiya Al-Hamra neighbourhood, after a massive fire broke out inside a sports trainers and sneakers factory on Mohamed Amin Street.
Preliminary investigations confirmed seven people dead, as civil defence forces continued to comb through the site to identify any additional casualties or injuries resulting from the blaze.
That was the initial official statement. Then, unofficially, the details of the tragedy began to emerge.
Seven young women died, and five others were injured after a fire broke out in an unlicensed shoe manufacturing workshop in a very narrow alley in Cairo's Zawiya Al-Hamra district, authorities said.
The blaze erupted inside a three-storey building of approximately 70 square metres per floor, operating without a license as a leather shoe production facility. The ground floor was used for storage, while the first and second floors served as production areas — a layout that accelerated the fire's spread due to the concentration of flammable materials on site.
The so-called factory after the fire
The victims were girls between 19 and 30 years old, earning roughly 100 Egyptian pounds per day.
An initial inspection found a complete absence of occupational safety measures and no emergency exits, which investigators say trapped the workers as the fire spread rapidly through the smoke-filled space over nearly four hours.
Eyewitnesses reported that the doors were locked and the windows were closed and secured, blocking any means of escape.
Residents called for a full investigation and accountability for all parties responsible, starting with the workshop owner, who denied any wrongdoing. Security forces arrested the workshop's owner following the incident.
The incident — a grim echo of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire — renewed scrutiny of unlicensed industrial operations and the enforcement of safety regulations in residential buildings across Cairo.
Carved from pink granite, it was found missing its lower half, including the legs and base.
Despite its incomplete state, archaeologists say the surviving features clearly point to royal iconography associated with Ramesses II.
The remains of the statue found at the location "SCA"
According to the Supreme Council of Antiquities (SCA), the discovery offers new insight into royal and religious life in the eastern Nile Delta.
Initial studies suggest that the statue may not have originally stood at Tell El-Faraoun. Instead, it was likely transported in antiquity from Per-Ramesses—the royal capital during Ramesses II’s reign—to the site, known in ancient times as Imet, where it may have been reused within a religious complex.
The excavation site at Tell El-Faraoun in Sharkia governorate "SCA"
I hesitate to say it, but such archaeological announcements have become almost routine in Egypt these days, appearing every few days.
What I did not expect, however, was for this particular discovery to attract widespread attention and go viral—until a report by the Daily Mail the following day reframed the narrative.
Happy Easter to all those celebrating today—especially
Egyptian and Sudanese Coptic Orthodox Christians, as well as Palestinian and
Lebanese Orthodox communities.
On this occasion, I’m sharing a photo of the Church of the
Martyr St. Philopater Mercurius in Mohandessin, Giza—commonly known as “Abu
Sefein,” or “the man of two swords.”
Khamaseen sandstorms were recorded in ancient Egypt under the name “Resut,” or “south wind,” and were associated with Set — the lord of the desert, chaos, and storms. Yes, the same Set from the myth of Isis and Osiris, where Osiris was the lord of the Nile and the fertile valley.
The Pyramids of Giza during the storm on Thursday Ibrahim Kandel
They are mentioned in the Book of the Dead, where the south wind is described as “the breath that burns the lungs,” prompting the use of protective amulets or prayers to Thoth, the god of wisdom and knowledge, to temper Set’s ferocity.
But why were they called “south winds” when they often seem today to come from the west, sweeping in from the Sahara?
It won’t be about how history becomes myth, but rather about one of Egypt’s legendary supporting actors who plays a role in our tale. Tonight, I will speak about the late Egyptian actor.
Tonight’s chit-chat will not be about how history turns into myth, but rather about one of Egypt’s legendary supporting actors who plays a role in our tale. Tonight, I will speak about the late Egyptian actress Naima Wasfi.
Naima Wasfi plays the role of the wicked Stormbreaker, the scheming woman who got rid of al-Nu’man and was on the verge of sparking a civil war among his sons.
Wasfi was among the queens of supporting actors in Egypt and the Arab world during the 20th century.
Born in February 1923 to a middle-class family in Upper Egypt’s Assiut, Naima Wasfi’s theatrical talent began to emerge while she was still in primary school. She started her creative journey by writing short stories, poetry, and zajal (colloquial verse). Later, she worked as a teacher before eventually settling in Cairo.
In Cairo, she began frequenting theatres and gradually became acquainted with people in the artistic community. There, she met the actress Nagla Ibrahim, who encouraged her to pursue acting.
As a result, Naima Wasfi enrolled at the Institute of Dramatic Arts, founded by Zaki Tulaimat in the mid-1940s, and obtained her diploma in 1947. She was then appointed to the Modern Theatre Troupe, which Tulaimat had established for the institute’s graduates.
Wasfi later moved to the National Theatre Troupe. In 1952, she began her career in cinema, making her first appearances in Egyptian films. Over the course of her career, she appeared in more than 30 films.
In addition to acting, she also wrote several television series and worked on numerous radio shows.
Aside from her artistic work, Naima Wasfi wrote a weekly column in Rose al-Youssef magazine. A longtime socialist, she served as Secretary for Women’s Affairs in the Arab Socialist Union for the Greater Cairo area. She contributed to literacy campaigns that helped educate many young women.
She was married to the journalist Abdel Hamid Saraya after what was described as a great love story. The couple had three children.
Out of deep love for her husband, she later wrote a moving elegy after his death—a poem so painful that she rarely wished to speak about it.
Naima Wasfi passed away on 7 August 1983 at the age of 60.
Now, enough chit-chat.
Let us now see what is going to happen in the 107th episode of One Thousand and One Nights, as originally broadcast on Egyptian State Radio.
Tonight’s chit-chat will not be about how history turns into myth, but rather about one of Egypt’s legendary actors who plays a role in our tale.
Tonight, I will speak about the late Egyptian legendary director and actor Nour El-Demerdash, who voiced Daw’ al-Makan.
Nour El-Demerdash was one of Egypt's most versatile figures in the world of performing arts, leaving a lasting mark on theatre, cinema, radio, and television over nearly five decades of creative work.
Born on November 12, 1925, in Tanta, in the Gharbia Governorate of Egypt, El-Demerdash first earned a bachelor’s degree in commerce in 1955, followed by a bachelor’s degree from the Higher Institute of Theatrical Arts in 1956.
He began his theatrical career working under the renowned Egyptian theater pioneer Zaki Tulaimat, an experience that shaped his disciplined approach to acting and storytelling.
On screen, Nour El-Demerdash became well known for portraying the charming young romantic lead — the charismatic playboy — in the 1950s
Ramadan Kareem to all Egyptian Chronicles readers.
Tonight, as we await what King Nu’man’s twin will do after turning from being royals to Slaves, it is time for our little chitchat.
As we may have guessed, tonight we will be introduced to a character that works as a garbage collector.
Historically, the garbage collector as a profession appeared in Ancient Mesopotamia, Ancient Egypt and Ancient Persia but not as we know now.
In Ancient Mesopotamia, while there wasn't a specific job title for "Garbage Man" in 3000 BCE, texts mention "Sweepers" and "Porters."
Sweepers were typically employed by temples and palaces to keep sacred grounds clean, while Porters might be hired by wealthy families to haul heavy waste to "middens" (city-edge dumps).
In Ancient Egypt, as early as 2100 BCE in the city of Heracleopolis Magna, records suggest that elite and religious districts had designated laborers who swept the streets and collected refuse in baskets.
In Ancient Rome, street cleaners and slaves removed refuse, while the Cloaca Maxima helped carry waste away from the city.
We will stop here. We return back to the history of garbage collection professions again.
Let us see what the siblings will do in the 98th episode of One Thousand and One Nights, as broadcast on Egyptian State Radio.
It may be wartime, but before we get busy with everything that comes with it, let’s take a short break and watch this brief video clip from Seasons & Streets about Cairo’s Ramadan bazaar in El-Sayeda Zeinab in 2026.
You have already seen the photos from there, so now it is time for the video. "Choose English subtitles"
I first wrote about this bazaar—or rather the street where it is held annually—mainly El-Sadd El-Barani Street, officially known as Youssef El-Sebai Street, back in 2023. But this year, we take a step further and look at the history of the market itself and how it grew into the largest seasonal makeshift market in Cairo, if not in Egypt.
Historically, the Sayeda Zeinab Ramadan bazaar was not the original center of Ramadan lantern production.
The historic hub of khayamiya (traditional tentmaking appliqué) and lantern craftsmanship was Tah’t Al-Rab‘, near Bab Zuweila, an area associated with these crafts since the Fatimid and Mamluk eras.
Unlike other tales, King al-Nu’man got names and places inspired by real names and places, especially in Pre-Islamic times.
Starting with King Kanaan, Atrashan’s father, it is a good introduction to speak about the land of Canaan.
Kanaan is the Arabic version of Canaan, and it is associated in Egypt with the Levantines as a name popularly till this day, and it is not a coincidence at all.
Starting with King Kanaan, Atrashan’s father, this serves as a good introduction to speaking about the land of Canaan.
Kanaan is the Arabic form of Canaan, and, in Egypt, the name has long been associated with Levantines — a connection that persists even today, and it is no coincidence.
The first known historical appearance of the name Canaan (or Kanaan) was in ancient Egyptian sources during the New Kingdom of Egypt, beginning in the 15th century BCE.
The term — written in Egyptian hieroglyphs as something like kꜣ-n-ʿ-nꜣ — appears in inscriptions referring to a region in the Levant.
Now, a quick piece of trivia: the actor who narrated the role of the Dervish in the episodes was the late Egyptian actor of Palestinian origin, Saad El-Gazawy.
El-Gazawy was a distinguished radio performer known for his powerful and recognizable voice. He began his artistic career in the 1960s and performed numerous radio roles, particularly religious ones.
In cinema, he appeared in films such as Hijrat Al-Rasul (The Prophet’s Migration) and Min Ozamaa Al-Islam (Among the Great Figures of Islam). On television, he took part in the historical series Omar ibn Abdel Aziz.
The program first aired in 1975 and is considered one of the oldest and most culturally significant radio programs in Egypt. Blending poetry, literature, history, philosophy, and religion into a single format, it featured only two performers: Samira Abdel Aziz and Saad El-Gazawy.
El-Gazawy remained with the program until his death in May 2013.
Now, without further delay, I present the third episode of our story—The Tale of Sajur and his sons, or the 197th night of One Thousand and One Nights, as broadcast by the Egyptian State Radio.
Ep. 3 “It is always the Darvish”
And when it was the One Hundred and Ninety-Seventh Night, and the night that followed, King Shahryar took his seat as on the evening before. Shahrazad came at the appointed hour, bowed before him, and continued her tale, joining what had been severed of speech.
Shahrazad: It has reached me, O fortunate king, wise in counsel and just in decree, that when the three princes — Firuz, Nairuz, and Ma‘zuz — found their hearts bound in love for their cousin, and their father could discover no remedy for their contention, King Sajur feared that discord might ripen into calamity, and that brother would rise against brother.
Therefore, he gathered them before the princess and gave to each a purse of gold, commanding that she should belong to him who returned with the most wondrous gift.
The three brothers accepted and set forth across deserts and valleys in search of marvels worthy of her hand. After many days they came to a khan, where they lodged for three nights. Then they mounted their horses and resumed their journey, until they reached a road divided into three paths.
There they halted in perplexity.
“Before us lie three roads,” said one.
“Which shall we take?” said another.
As they debated, there came to them a dervish whose laughter rang strangely in the air.
“Each road,” said he, “holds both its good and its evil.”
“Which shall we choose?” they asked.
“You are three brothers,” replied the dervish. “Your purpose is one — but your paths are not one.”
When they tried to walk together upon a single road, they found themselves returned to the very place from which they had begun.
“The end of it is its beginning,” said the dervish, “and the beginning its end. No single road will bear you three.”
“Why?” they cried.
“Because your intentions differ, and so your roads must differ. Each of you must walk alone. Then each shall reach his desire.”
He pointed to the paths before them.
“This is the Road of Safety. This is the Road of Regret. And this is the Road from which there is no Return.”
They trembled — yet none would yield.
The dervish gave to each a small sphere.
“Cast it,” said he. “It will choose your road.”
They cast the spheres.
To one fell the Road of Safety. To another, the Road of Regret. To the third, the Road from which there is no Return.
“The path now lies open,” said the dervish. “Go your ways. Though you part, you shall meet again.”
And the brothers agreed to reunite after one year, at the same khan, on the same day — each awaiting the other.
Thus, they embraced and separated, each vanishing upon his appointed road.
A year passed.
In the palace of King Sajur there was no tidings.
The princess Amira grew pale with sorrow. “If only I knew,” she wept, “whether they live or lie beneath the earth. I am the cause of what has befallen.”
But the king answered her, “Your tongue did not command them, nor did your hand compel them. Do not lay this burden upon your heart.”
Messengers were sent. They returned with nothing.
“It is as though the earth had opened and swallowed them,” said the vizier.
The king’s grief deepened.
One day a dervish came to the palace gates — the same who had appeared in former years.
“I come to bring peace to your heart,” he said. “Your sons live.”
“Where?” cried the king.
“They will come to you flying like birds.”
The princess lifted her face. “And will they arrive safely?”
The dervish answered only, “I have but two days left of my life. I have delivered the message and fulfilled the trust.”
Then he departed.
But the princess had grown grievously ill.
Her sorrow consumed her, and the physicians despaired of her life. King Sajur stood beside her bed, remembering his brother Azdeshir, and tears filled his eyes.
While they stood thus in despair, the palace trembled, and shouts rang through its halls. Servants rushed inward crying:
“My lord—!”
And before her tale was complete, the dawn overtook Shahrazad, and she fell silent until another night.
In the spirit of Ramadan, I invite you to support UNICEF’s relief efforts in Gaza and Sudan, as well as other places in the globe. Every pound, dollar, or euro can make a difference.
Titled “The Voice of Egypt,” the exhibition lived up to its name: Thuma truly was the voice of Egypt.
Umm Kalthoum statue between paintings
Held at Aisha Fahmy Palace from August through November 2025, the exhibition proved to be a major success.
I visited it in October.
Inside Thuma's exhibit
The exhibition included many things. "Spoiler: Keep reading and scroll down the post—the best is yet to come, and the true gems of the exhibition are just below. Make sure to read to the end."
It featured a selection of Umm Kulthum’s personal belongings, on loan from her museum on Al-Manial Island, including her notebook, pen, gloves, and sunglasses.
This is the annual post marking the January 25 Revolution of 2011 in Egypt, published on January 28—the true day of the Revolution.
Although it may seem like a distant memory, it has rarely felt closer. Many—if not all—of the causes and conditions that led to that moment, which reshaped the Middle East (if not the world), still exist today, in one form or another, across almost every country in the region—not just in Egypt.
Step Down sign from February 4 million man protest in Tahrir square
I am writing this post while Iran stands on the brink of war, following mass protests that were hijacked by the U.S. and the Israeli regime and brutally cracked down on by the Iranian regime. The result has been a tragedy: thousands killed, thousands more detained, and millions waiting in fear, uncertain about what the future holds.
I cannot ignore what is happening in Iran, as we remember the January 2011 Revolution—the peak moment that truly launched the Arab Spring, with all due respect to the Tunisian Revolution. For context, Tunisians themselves protested earlier this month against their government and President Kais Saied, who has turned out to be little more than a Temu-version strongman.
After the 12-day war in the summer of 2025, I thought the Iranian regime might finally read the writing on the wall and grant greater freedoms to its people, especially after Iranians stood firm during the Israeli–U.S. war.
Once again, the Iranian people proved—like people everywhere—that they are the first and true line of defense, resilient despite years of repression and crushing economic sanctions. For a brief moment, videos from Iran suggested a slight opening: more women appeared unveiled in public. Yet economic hardship deepened, demanding urgent reform.
It seems that 19 January is becoming the day I release my Christmas video every year!
This time, I’m releasing the video on Epiphany, as observed in the Eastern Orthodox Church calendar, rather than on its eve as I did last year.
Watch the new episode of Seasons & Streets, “Christmas from Korba to Shubra 25,” to explore the history of Baghdad Street in Heliopolis, as well as the long and fascinating story of Al-Tarea Al-Bolakia (the Bolakia Canal)—with additional background, photos, and even rare video footage from Cairo in the 19th century and early 20th century.
Once again, it’s worth noting that Epiphany is celebrated on 19 January by most Eastern Orthodox Churches (6 January in the Julian calendar, which corresponds to 19 January in the Gregorian calendar), including the Egyptian Coptic Orthodox Church.
Epiphany commemorates the baptism of Jesus Christ in the Jordan River by John the Baptist.
Back to the video—Inshallah, next time I will upload the video at the same time as the photos, whether on 25 December or 7 January.
It’s time for the second edition of our annual Egyptian Chronicles series: Christmas in Cairo, Vol. 2.
As always, this post features photos and videos of Cairo’s Christmas decorations as the city celebrates 7 January — Orthodox Christmas, observed by Orthodox Christian communities.
Merry Christmas to all those celebrating it.
The nativity scene at Saint Ibram shop
Okay, a brief social and historical note: most Christian Egyptians belong to the Coptic Orthodox Church of Alexandria, one of the oldest Christian churches in the world.
You might wonder why Christmas in Egypt is celebrated on 25 December and 7 January.
The difference comes down to the calendar. Most of the world uses the Gregorian calendar, which places Christmas on 25 December.
The Coptic Orthodox Church, however, follows the Julian calendar, which is currently 13 days behind — hence Coptic Christmas falling on 7 January.
Interestingly, in the early centuries of Christianity, the Eastern Church—in regions such as Egypt and Syria—celebrated Theophany on 6 January.
This was a single, “double feast” commemorating both the birth of Jesus and his baptism.
It was only later that Western Christianity separated the two events, assigning Jesus’ birth to 25 December, while the Eastern churches maintained their traditions in line with the Julian calendar.
.jpg)
