France Howker’s last newspaper receives an order for merit in 50 years

It is the last Hawker newspaper in France; Maybe the last in Europe.

Ali Akbar has hit the floor on the left bank of Paris for more than 50 years, documents under his arm and lips the most native title.

And now he must be officially recognized as his contribution to French culture. President Emmanuel Macron – once as a student he bought newspapers from G -N Akbar – is to decorate him next month with the Order of Merit, one of the highest honors in France.

“When I started here in 1973, there were 35 or 40 of us hockers in Paris,” he says. “I’m alone now.

“It has become too discouraging. Everything is digital now. People just want to consult their phones.”

Nowadays, in his circles through the cafes of the fashion Saint-Germain, Mr. Akbar can hope to sell about 30 copies to Le Mond. It supports half of the sale price but does not receive a return to return.

Back before the Internet, he will sell 80 copies within the first hour of the afternoon publication of the newspaper.

“In the old times, people would crowd around me, looking for the newspaper. Now I have to chase customers to try to sell it,” he says.

Not that the decline in commerce remotely bothers A Akbar, who says he continues to go for the pure joy of work.

“I’m a joyful person. And I’m free. I’m completely independent with this job. No one gives me orders. That’s why I do it.”

The 72-year-old is a well-known and very beloved figure in the neighborhood. “For the first time, I came here in the 1960s and grew up with Ali. He is like a brother,” says a woman.

“He knows everyone. And he’s so funny,” another says.

Ali Akbar was born in Ravalpindi, Pakistan, and made his way to Europe in the late 1960s, arriving first in Amsterdam, where he received a job aboard a cruise liner.

In 1972, the ship moored in the French city of Rouen, and a year later it was in Paris. He received his residence documents in the 1980s.

“I, I wasn’t hippie, but I knew a lot of hippie,” he says with his characteristic laughter.

“When I was in Afghanistan on my way to Europe, I landed with a group that tried to make me smoke hashish.

“I told them I’m sorry, but I had a mission in life and it wasn’t to spend next month to sleep in Kabul!”

In the former intellectual center of Saint -Germain, he must meet celebrities and writers. Elton John once bought him milk tea at Brasserie Lipp. And by selling documents to the prestigious University of Sciences-Po, he was familiar with generations of future politicians, as President Macron.

So how did the legendary left -wing neighborhood change as he first held a copy of Le Monde for the first time and stabbed it At the auction (with plumbing)?

“The atmosphere is not the same,” he complains. “Then there were publishers and writers everywhere-actors and musicians. The place had a soul. But now it’s just a tourist city.

“The soul is gone,” he says – but laughs as he does.