He is considered France’s last newspaper hawker, and perhaps the last in all of Europe.
For over 50 years, Ali Akbar has walked the streets of Paris’s Left Bank, newspapers tucked under his arm and the latest headlines on his lips.
Now, he is set to be officially recognized for his contribution to French culture. President Emmanuel Macron, who himself purchased newspapers from Mr. Akbar as a student, will award him the Order of Merit, one of France’s highest honors, next month.
“When I started here in 1973, there were 35 or 40 of us hawkers in Paris,” he recounts. “Now, I am the only one.”
“It became too discouraging. Everything is digital now. People simply want to consult their telephones.”
These days, Mr. Akbar hopes to sell around 30 copies of Le Monde on his rounds through the cafés of fashionable Saint-Germain. He retains half of the sale price, but receives no reimbursement for unsold papers.
Before the advent of the Internet, he would sell 80 copies within the first hour of the newspaper’s afternoon publication.
“In the past, people would gather around me, eager to get the paper. Now, I have to pursue clients to try to sell a single copy,” he notes.
However, the decline in sales does not seem to bother Mr. Akbar, who says he continues because he simply enjoys the work.
“I am a joyous person. And I am free. This job gives me complete independence. No one gives me orders. That is why I do it.”
The sprightly 72-year-old is a well-known and beloved figure in the neighborhood. “I first came here in the 1960s and I’ve grown up with Ali. He is like a brother,” one woman says.
“He knows everyone. And he is so much fun,” another adds.
Ali Akbar was born in Rawalpindi, Pakistan, and traveled to Europe in the late 1960s, first arriving in Amsterdam where he found work on a cruise liner.
In 1972, the ship docked in the French city of Rouen, and a year later, he was in Paris. He obtained his residency papers in the 1980s.
“I wasn’t a hippie back then, but I knew many hippies,” he says with his characteristic laugh.
“When I was in Afghanistan on my way to Europe, I ended up with a group who tried to get me to smoke hashish.
“I told them I was sorry, but I had a mission in life, and it wasn’t to spend the next month sleeping in Kabul!”
In the once intellectual hub of Saint-Germain, he had the opportunity to meet celebrities and writers. Elton John once bought him milky tea at Brasserie Lipp. And while selling papers in front of the prestigious Sciences-Po university, he became acquainted with generations of future politicians, including President Macron.
So, how has the legendary Left Bank neighborhood changed since he first held aloft a copy of Le Monde and hawked it à la criée (with a shout)?
“The atmosphere is not the same,” he laments. “Back then, there were publishers and writers everywhere, as well as actors and musicians. The place had soul. But now it is just a tourist town.”
“The soul has gone,” he says, though he laughs as he says it.
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