“Rhythm is everything in boxing. Every move you make starts with your heart, and that’s in rhythm or you’re in trouble,” theorized the great Sugar Ray Robinson. The rhythm of ‘Momo’ El Maghraby follows a flow entirely his own, forged in the shadowed corners of Monza’s train station and shaped by the formative, educational power of the noble art.

We followed this rhythm through a long conversation, a prelude to the most significant event in his ever-ascending, increasingly multidimensional boxing career: the Italian Light Heavyweight title bout against De Lellis at Allianz Cloud in Milan, Saturday, November 8.

It is his voice, his testimony, that guides us through a personal symphony blending human redemption and pugilistic growth. His stream of consciousness is not merely an introduction to his next, precious entry into the ring; it is a biography that has found its direction, its expression, its rightful essence, within the four ropes.

“I grew up in Monza. Most of my adolescence was spent at Platform 7 of the train station, a tough environment. My life was full of challenges from an early age, but I always tried to find the positive side of every situation. Over time, and thanks to my encounter with boxing, I learned to manage anger, frustration, and fear—and to transform them into energy to do something meaningful in my life, both inside and outside the ring. I discovered boxing almost by accident. As a kid, I was lively, someone who wouldn’t let anyone walk over me. Growing up on the streets, you quickly learn that you have to earn respect, if only to avoid being disrespected by others. The ring came into my life during a turbulent youth, thanks to a friend who introduced me to my first coach. From that moment on, everything changed: when I stepped into the gym, I was welcomed into a family.

Boxing became my outlet. It pulled me out of countless problems and difficult situations I had faced. It taught me discipline, respect, and a new way of being in the world. Through boxing, my very understanding of respect changed. Before, people respected me in a certain way; today, they respect me for entirely different reasons—for the boxer and the person I’ve become. I am seen as an example, especially by many young people from my neighborhoods. Now respect is no longer something I have to demand with force or words: it has become the fulfillment that comes from the admiration of those around me. People who know me understand where I started, recognize the sacrifices I’ve made and the path I’ve walked over the years. And that means more to me than any other form of respect.

At first, boxing was mostly about ambition. I wanted to become one of the best, to prove that I could stand in the ring with anyone. I tried to learn from everyone, but over time I realized I needed to build my own style—not only in fighting but also in thinking, reacting, and staying calm. Early on, a single punch could make me lose my head. But with experience, I learned that true strength lies in the mind. Boxing isn’t just two people trying to hit each other: it’s strategy, control, intelligence. It’s about using your thoughts, not just your heart, to stay composed even when the world is spinning around you. And the same goes for life. As Rocky said, “Life is tough, it hits hard.” And it’s exactly when you take those hits that you understand who you are. That’s why I always say boxing is a metaphor for our existence.

Every fight is much more than a match for me. It’s a moment where I can bring together people who, throughout the year, live different lives: friends with jobs, families, partners, a thousand commitments… But on that day, when I step into the ring, they all come together by my side, all of them: like one big family. The ‘Curva Momo’ is something that makes me feel great, a rather unique social phenomenon in the boxing scene. It’s not every day that you see a large group of people cheering for a single boxer. Over time, it has become a real movement. At first there were ten people in the stands, then twenty, then thirty… Today, there are over a hundred following me at every fight. It’s a unique emotion. Seeing them there, happy, united with me by the energy created each time… It goes far beyond boxing. It’s the meaning and the most beautiful part of this journey: bringing people together and giving everyone a reason to feel part of something.

In the past, I suffered a bit from loneliness. It weighed on me, especially because of the absence of my family… I lacked real points of reference in life. Today, it’s different. When I come home, there’s my partner, my children: I feel calm, at peace. It’s like I’ve found a balance. Friends have always been there, since I was young, but at the same time there was always that strange feeling of coming home to silence. It hurt. Traveling alone, eating alone, sleeping alone—it was heavy. Before, coming home brought me no peace; today, it’s the most beautiful thing there is.”

“Fighting for the Italian title means so much to me. I arrived in Italy when I was twelve. Since then, I haven’t returned to Egypt. Over these years, Italy has become my home: here I’ve lived, grown, and built my life. My origins remain, of course. I know who I am: I’m Egyptian, Arab, and that blood will always run through me. But my habits, my way of thinking and speaking, are deeply Italian. I feel part of this country, even though my native culture has never left me. My roots are there, alive within me, even if with a sense of distance. Then, I owe everything to my faith. It keeps me grounded, connects me to God, reminds me where I come from and why I am the way I am. You could say I live between two worlds. At that point of intersection, in the middle, there I am. From a sporting perspective, the Italian title is one of the first goals I set when I started boxing: one of those milestones that has accompanied me since my very first training sessions. Stepping into the ring, giving form to all the work I’ve done, and fighting for the title is already, in itself, an enormous achievement. Every fight I approach and live as a chapter of my personal book: first a phase opens, then closes, and immediately another begins. All with the awareness that the end of a cycle is sometimes only the beginning of an even more important story. And I owe the victory, first and foremost, to myself. That’s the mindset that guides me every day.

Boxing was always my way to vent. I’ve sacrificed so much—time, emotions, moments—to build something truly my own. Of course, I haven’t always been able to perform as I wanted: in matches, in my mind, in life. But every fall and every renunciation brought me here. That’s why I say this W is for me. Not for vanity, but out of gratitude. Because after all these years of hard work and relentless effort, it’s right to look in the mirror and say, “You did it. Everything you went through had a meaning.”

I work and keep working, beyond boxing. Finding balance hasn’t been easy and still isn’t: it costs me time, energy, and space for myself and my family. My days start early and end late. I attack the morning, then run to the gym, train, teach… and spend the whole day away from home. I realize that, sometimes, my family has to be a bit left behind, and that is what has weighed on me the most. But it’s part of the sacrifice. Every hour I spend away from home is an investment in the dream, in what I am building for them. It’s not easy, not at all. There are mornings I wake up and think, “Why am I doing this?” Then I look in the mirror, wash my face, breathe, and go. Because I know that this discipline, this effort, is the same that brought me here. That made me who I am. And every day I hold on, it’s one more day I win: inside and outside the ring. I never thought I would get this far. Yet, deep inside, I felt I would make it. I didn’t yet know where, but I sensed that something great was waiting for me. My faith was always with me, God by my side. Even when I found myself on the ground, surrounded by problems and difficulties, faith always saved me. It has happened countless times.”

“The fusion between music and boxing, especially during my ring walks, gives me a huge boost. I already knew artists like Simba La Rue and Baby Gang — we shared mutual friends from the neighborhood, and we’d been in touch since we were kids. I met others through my friends, like Jake La Furia. With him, a genuine friendship was born, one that grew over time and even led him to perform live during one of my ring walks. Back when I used to hang around Monza’s Binario 7, I listened to his tracks, and seeing some of them now walk me into the ring feels like watching a dream come to life. I never imagined I’d find myself in situations like these. Whenever I reach out to artists with the idea, I never expect too much — I just tell myself: “Leave it in God’s hands. If it happens, it happens. If not, life goes on.” When they say yes, I feel nothing but happiness and pride. They put in time and energy, and that means the world to me. The last ring walk I organized was with a close friend who had just started making music — I wanted to give him that chance. It was an emotional match, and I wanted it to feel like something done within the family. Walking to the ring that way gives me a special kind of charge, not just physical, but emotional and symbolic. The image, the context, the crowd: it all creates something powerful. Being surrounded by such talented and respected rappers, with their skills and following, is something truly special. It makes you realize the weight of what you’re doing.

I do feel a certain sense of responsibility: like carrying the weight of what I represent. I try not to overthink it, but people believe in me, just as I believe in myself. They have that dream, that hope that I’ll make it, and I’d hate to let them down. On the other hand, it also means I’ve come this far through my own effort, and that I’m earning what I deserve. That’s something to celebrate, and I try to do it in the most genuine, joyful way possible. Still, that sense of responsibility never leaves; it’s part of the path, part of the tests I have to face. 

Despite a rough past, I sometimes feel I’m too kind. It’s happened often that when I see someone struggling, I just can’t ignore it. If I acted like a jerk, I’d feel awful about myself. That’s just how I am: I help people, even strangers, and then, when I need help, they’re nowhere to be found. It hurts, but I tell myself: “Today I did it for God.” I wish I could be tougher sometimes, but I truly believe life eventually teaches everyone how to live. I don’t think I can teach anyone how to live — I’m no prophet — but through my small experience, I can offer a different perspective, a different way of seeing things. Life itself is the real teacher: in difficult moments, it’s just you — your character and your courage — deciding how to face it. I never really had role models, but I learned from the smart people around me. I tried to take the best from others, to imagine how they would think or react if they were in my shoes. Boxing taught me how to use my mind, to trust myself, to handle difficulties. 

Life is tough. Sometimes it fills your head with negative thoughts, makes you believe you can’t make it. But if you stay trapped in your own bubble, you never grow. I always try to send positive messages — to myself and to others — to find both physical and mental signals that tell me: “Today I can do it. Today I can conquer the world.” I believe that if you truly want something, you’ll always find a way to get it. If you don’t, you’ll just find an excuse. And for me, excuses simply don’t exist. To break the cycle that so many young people from neighborhoods like mine get stuck in, you have to shift your focus — from the negative to the positive. If your mind only sees darkness, the good fades away. It’s a constant practice, a dialogue with yourself, even in small things. Without boxing, I wouldn’t be who I am today. It taught me what determination really means — it brought me closer to myself, and to life. Boxing isn’t just sport, or a gym, or a match, or a crowd — for me, it’s a way of living. My life is one single thing: a balance of sacrifice, love, friendship, and personal growth.”