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Al-Ahram Weekly 15 - 21 June 2000 Issue No. 486 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 15 - 21 June 2000 Issue No. 486
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Features Travel Living Sports Profile People Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters From an archaeologist's notebook
By Zahi Hawass
I joined the Antiquities Department in 1968. I was young, zealous and extremely eager to plunge into my budding career as an archaeologist. My hopes were deflated when I met Gamal Mokhtar, president of the then Antiquities Organisation, and learned that he had appointed me as inspector of antiquities at Tuna Al-Gebel, a site west of Malawi in Middle Egypt, and, as far as I was concerned, in the middle of nowhere. I could not believe that after living in populous Alexandria for five years, I would be living in isolation, in the middle of the desert.
My love affair with the daily grind of archaeology and its surprising rewards had yet to be born and I tried everything in my power to get out of what I regarded as a sentence to exile. I argued with Mokhtar and persuaded him to give me the chance to find another job. I tried my hand at tourism, I dipped my hand in diplomacy with the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, but nothing seemed to work out.
Finally I went to Mokhtar again and he was furious to find me still in Cairo. Cursing my fate, I bought a train ticket from Cairo to Malawi and set off on a journey that would change my life.
On the train, I struggled with a sense of naive foreboding. I remember the unbearable heat (the train had no air-conditioning) and I slept for a while before I finally began to review the history of my new home. At first glance Tuna Al-Gebel appeared a lonely little place, only three square kilometres in size, but I soon found it to be blessed with a wealth of history and tales that span centuries. Slowly my unease began to transform into curiosity.
The most remarkable monument at Tuna Al-Gebel is the funerary temple built above the tomb of Petosiris, high priest of Thoth, the ancient Egyptian god of wisdom. Dating to 300 BC, the temple became the final resting place for three generations of priests. In front of its entrance is a limestone altar with chambers depicting scenes of religious and daily life. Greek influence is evident in the clothing, the type of sacrifice shown, and the artistic use of perspective in the inner chambers. The facade, however, depicts traditional ancient Egyptian scenes of offerings to Pharaonic gods.
As the train carried me southward, I pondered on Tuna Al-Gebel, the- graveyard of the ancient city of Hermopolis. Hermopolis was dedicated to the Greek god Hermes, who, in turn, was associated with Thoth. I felt as though Tuna Al-Gebel might actually sit at the very edge of the world -- a gate to the afterlife. I closed my eyes. They were still closed when I reached Minya, the main town of the governorate. The train continued after a brief stop, and there I was, at my destination.
Tuna Al-Gebel is closely linked to the dawning of monotheism in Egypt, which came during the reign of the unusual Pharaoh, Akhenaten -- the first king to centre all religious beliefs on one god. Akhenaten placed the sun-god Aten above all others, but his revolutionary ideas challenged the power and authority of the priests of Amun and he immediately encountered strong resistance.
At the town's entrance stands a majestic stela, an inscribed stone slab dating to the reign of Akhenaten and depicting him and his wife, Nefertiti, worshipping the sun disk. Akhenaten moved from Thebes, the cult centre of the old gods, in order to create a royal capital glorifying the new religion. This city came to be known as Akhenaten -- "the horizon of the sun disk" -- and the king erected six boundary stelae to mark its limits, one of them at Tuna Al-Gebel. I had only seen records of this boundary stela, placed inside a rock-cut shrine, during my studies. Two rock-cut statues of the royal couple also remain.
I suddenly realised that after my six-hour train journey in the July heat, there was no one at Malawi station to welcome me. I asked around, and I was advised to take a taxi to the village of Tuna Al-Gebal. It was an old-fashioned vehicle, packed with over 20 people, and I was starting to grow less enthusiastic and more pessimistic all over again. I arrived at the village to find that the archaeological site was about three kilometres away. I tried to hire a car.
Meanwhile, the mayor of the village, Sheikh Mahmoud, had learned that the new inspector had arrived and he came with the chief of the guards to invite me to lunch at his house. I do not know why I refused his offer -- I was young and afraid to meet new people, especially the mayor. I insisted that I was anxious to get to the site immediately and Sheikh Mahmoud consequently arranged for a donkey and a guard to take me there. It took about two hours. When I finally arrived I was totally exhausted, and the only thing running through my mind was that I was being punished; exiled to live among isolated ruins.
The first positive thing I discovered at Tuna Al-Gebel was that the secretary of the site, a Mr Abadair, was a very kind man. He took me to the rest-house, a unique building with a double roof surrounded by a beautiful garden; one of the most interesting government houses I have ever seen.
I visited the site each day, studying every detail of the tombs and carefully recording what I found. The cook prepared my meals every morning and returned to his home in a nearby town. In the evenings, the secretary would come to keep me company, but I was starting to appreciate the opportunities in my solemnity. I began to read the books in the library of the inspectorate and learn more about archaeology. I began to write about the site and its restoration. I devoted myself to work in the evenings, after everyone -- apart from the guards, of course -- had gone home, and I could be alone with my thoughts. The best nights for writing were under a full moon.
I cannot begin to explain the effect of living such a disciplined lifestyle. I went to bed at 10.00pm in the evening and woke up at six in the morning -- in between was hard work, and rigorous study, but the rewards were invaluable. In Tuna Al-Gebel I learned more than I could ever have learned in a university classroom and because of this, I owe much to my experience there. My advice to every young archaeologist is not to begin with aspirations of the high-profile sites, like Giza and other locations near Cairo, but rather to seek the challenges and wisdom that lie hidden in the sands of Upper Egypt.
One day, an Egyptian physician came to see me with his wife. He asked if they could visit the catacombs of the sacred ibis birds. I asked him about his special interest in them and his answer surprised me. He said he had been married for six years and had no children. He had been to many doctors, but without success. A man in his village had told him to take his wife to the tombs of the ibis birds, sacred to Thoth, and have her step on a particular stone. "Whatever you want," I told him dubiously, and called the chief of the guards, Salhin, to take him.
About nine months later the physician returned with a box of chocolates and happily told me that his wife was pregnant.
