Pride Inside

One summer many years ago, at an airport check-in desk in Tehran, my mother was told – as we all had suspected – that our luggage was significantly over the airline’s weight allowance. ‘Please,’ she said, charming the agent, ‘you have to understand, we’re taking a carpet back to the UK.’ Would you believe he let it slide? I couldn’t. But this man understood why a Persian home shouldn’t be deprived of a Persian rug and it was enough to make him break protocol. Perhaps even if he’d been caught, he’d have faced no consequences for making exceptions; maybe all the way up the ladder, there’s an unspoken waiver for members of the diaspora transporting decorative goods.

All Middle Eastern living rooms tell a story. Whether it’s a Palestinian keffiyeh hanging on the wall, a hammered/engraved ghalamzani tray passed down through generations, or a Syrian mother-of-pearl-inlaid table, these objects connect people to their history and homeland – especially for diasporic communities. They might well have hung on walls or sat on shelves in the homes of our ancestors. By surrounding ourselves with them, we’re drawn closer to our culture. They serve as a statement to anybody who walks through the door: ‘this is where I come from, this is my heritage’. We are all house-proud, but even more than that, we’re patriotic.

As I write this piece, I’m scrambling for synonyms for ‘pride’ so as to avoid repetition, but somehow it’s inevitable. Pride permeates every facet of West Asian living rooms, and this is especially apparent when flicking through the photographs in Middle East Archive’s newest book on the subject. The mundane is cleverly accessorised, as detailed in Mariam El Gendy’s photograph of a ceiling fan in Hegazah, Egypt, dressed in a custom-made, floral cover. It’s also not uncommon to see intricate crafts and motifs from local regions exhibited alongside suites of regal Louis XV-style sofas, demonstrating a taste for haute Western-style furniture and an ability to blend tradition and modernity. As Romaisa Baddar, the archive’s founder, writes in the book’s introduction: ‘though the gold accents, elaborate candelabras and fringes might seem camp or overly extravagant when compared with other homes around the globe, they are a deep source of pride in our region’.

Living Rooms features the work of 41 photographers, including names such as Olivia Arthur, Miriam Stanke, Abbas, Olgaç Bozalp, Mariam El Gendy, Lara Chahine, Nariman El Mofty, and Rena Effendi, among others. In shaping the visual narrative, Romaisa intentionally avoided providing excessive context for the images, allowing the viewers to interpret them freely. The book blends archival photographs with contemporary works to avoid romanticising the past. Instead, the integration of both past and present speaks to the ongoing evolution of the region, as emerging creatives continue to redefine their relationship with space and identity. The result is a thoughtful, layered portrayal of Middle Eastern homes as dynamic and evolving spaces of connection, celebration, and personal history.

‘I particularly like how in our region, living rooms exhibit so many signs of the beliefs that people uphold,’ Romaisa tells me. Islamic calligraphy or paintings of Jesus point towards one’s religious affiliations. Photographs of loved ones, deceased or otherwise, signify an intense appreciation for family. Meanwhile, furniture protected from dust by sheets or TV remote controls wrapped in cellophane, ensuring no wear on its buttons, speak to a culture of preservation – both of belongings and heritage.

Family is the cornerstone of society, and relatives and friends constantly pass through the living rooms, where chai and qahwah are enjoyed over long hours of conversation ranging from politics to gossip. There’s an old Persian saying, mehmān habib-e khodast, meaning ‘A guest is the friend of God’, which serves as a reminder that visitors should always be treated graciously. It’s not uncommon for Persian and Arab households to have separate sitting areas or rooms intended only for guests – the Majlis as they’re known in Arabic, or mehmān khane in Farsi. It’s also quite usual for celebrations to be thrown in the living room, rather than being held in a restaurant or function room.

Perhaps especially, Palestinian people have a deep connection to the land. It is home to over two million people who are steadfast in rebuilding after the trauma they have endured, and as Mosab Abu Toha wrote for the New Yorker: ‘Even the rubble in Gaza has meaning to us. It is where our loved ones lived and died.’ It’s for this reason that Living Rooms is particularly poignant. Flicking through the pages and studying each photograph elicits a deeper appreciation for the great sense of pride that Middle Easterners harbour towards their homes and ultimately the land from which they come.

‘In the Middle East, bayt (the house) is sacred,’ the late author and journalist Anthony Shadid wrote in his book House of Stone. ‘Empires fall. Nations topple. Borders may shift or be realigned. Old loyalties may dissolve or, without warning, be altered. Home, whether it be structure or familiar ground is, finally, the identity that does not fade.’ Across social media, videos show Gazans returning home to find their houses in ruins, their possessions buried among dust and rubble. In salvaging photo frames from the wreckage, washing the grime from the rugs, reassembling furniture, the living rooms – fashioned from all the fragments that make up the idea of home – are once again beginning to take shape.

Living Rooms by Middle East Archive

Through a curated collection of archival and contemporary photography, Living Rooms explores the rich interplay of design, culture, and identity reflected in these spaces. From intricate textiles and low seating arrangements to gold accents and elaborate décor, these rooms embody the pride and character of the families who inhabit them.

€70 at Middle East Archive

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