Secrets Part I

Lost treasures, tricky names, knotty dates

Actually everything began very simple. We only wanted to meet with an Egyptian friend in a certain restaurant. That went off well. But what followed later on was nearly something like a conspiracy session. For sure if Nagib Machfus (picture right: reading the daily news in a coffee shop) was sitting at the table next to us we would give him a lot of pleasantry. But we don't want to digress to literary.

Or nevertheless lets just have a short excursion for newcomers to Egypt (connoisseurs may forgive us). Machfus, born in 1911 in Cairo, wrote a lot about Egypt. In return for his diligence in 1988 he was chosen as the winner of the Nobel Award for Literature. Which cuts no ice with Egypt at all, because to many of his novels in those days the government imposed a ban on publishing in Egypt. Machfus discribes the mechanism of the Egyptian society, for example the dominant Janus-faced moral in its narrations and novels better and above all more amusing, than any university seminar is able to teach. But unforunately the Egyptian authorities felt insulted by criticism at bad states in their honour. And what means honour in this country, you can learn with Machfus. There is nothing better reading for joining in, in order to understand social structures and standards (paperbacks in German language are published in the Swiss Unionsverlag, Zürich).

But back now into our restaurant on the West Bank (we conceal the name because of politeness). Our friend, we simply call him Mamdouh (by the way, also the Minister of Tourism is named so with hist first name), showed up with his uncle Ahmed, one of the thousands of uncle Ahmeds in Egypt. The discussion meanders along until uncle Ahmed suddenly intervenes, after we conversed about tourism and new ideas in this field. Wheater we have contacts to European archaeologists, who want to discover perhaps somewhat completely besides. He would know there something. But betrayed it can of course only against cash.

Meanwhile we know discussions like this very well. Already more frequently "genuine" antiquities were offered to us, some may have been even genuine. Or we were asked for contacts to the international black market for antiquities. If one lives longer on the West Bank, so some tongues loosen itselves. Our answer to Ahmed, there nothing would go. We refer to regulations, to the archaeological code of ethics, on possible difficulties, on the possibly threatening of accomodations in the only free of charge, but most uncomfortable resthouse in Egypt - in the prison. But Ahmed persists in this topic. The reason cannot only be his Cola, from which flows the unmistakable smell of Scottish national drink into our noses.

"Do you remind of Howard Carter", uncle Ahmed, who lives in the old village of Qurna, starts again. "After he had opened the tomb of Tutankhamen (picture left: The golden funeral mask displayed in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo), many treasures secretly were be carried to the mountains, buried there. Only one guide, a trusted friend of Carter, new the exact place, marked it. But then unfortunately heavy rainfalls came, rinsed the markings away and the guard never regained the place. But I know the place, some relatives of mine discovered it. But we cannot do anything, because in our area everywhere police is on the way."

A story which sounds not completely impossible. Again and again even within archeological circles whispers are going around, that Carter the noble excavator let disappear several treasures. And the inhabitants of Qurna - many of them worked at that time with Carter - since generations are well-known for their knowledge of the area, well-known that they know and use (for their own financal advantage) the secrets better than all archaeologist together.

But uncle Ahmed still puts after. "By the way, I also know where Queen Hatshepsut (picture below: the beautiful head of the queen is displayed in her mortuary temple Deir El Bahari, vestibule of the third terrace)really is burried", he is smiling impish. That would be a sensation, because until today the mummy of the female Pharaoh was not found, her tomb in the Valley of the Kings was empty when discovered. But this place also he can betray of course only against cash, says Ahmed. Again and again dollar signs seems to flash in his eyes.

With Machfus the story could continue in such a way: After some further glasses of Cola with that peculiar smell (the parfum is surely deposited before the eyes of the authority in the refrigerator for Cola etc. under a plastic bag with several litres of milk) uncle Ahmed convinced the foreigners, strongly diddles them in company with his clan, gets then in the clutches of the bureaucracy, has there strongly to grease their palms, finally for his surviving has to betray all his secrets to them without any profit. Our story ends here. But it really is true.

What we like to tell with our story is the enormous evidence of the antiquity sites for the inhabitants of the villages on the West Bank. But also the problem for many of them. They know exactly that the inheritances of the ancient Egyptian Kings are their wealth. But this cultural wealth cannot feed all the families. Because the profit from the tourist stream flows in other pockets. Therefore some of them are dreaming from the big but illegal coup. For one of the subliminal still existing opinions uncle Ahmed has a short but impressive summary: "The government says, that all the sites belong to Egypt. And Egypt is our country, therefore all the treasures belong to us, so we can do with it whatever we want." Again the signs of dollars flash in eyes, because so far stories from the good old times, about successfully coups with illegal antiquity smugglings are making the round. And also about businesses, which despite to all official precautionary measures and penalty clauses are still on the run. But this cake is distributed. Even if many, as also uncle Ahmed, like to nibble a bit for it. But it is very rare to talk about this subject so open and clear.

Everything "real antiquities"

This "nibbling" at the cash of the tourists anyway runs through replicas, with well-done copies, which often will be offered and sold as "absolutely genuinly, but please do not tell anybody". Lucky are those who fall on it. Because if a tourist will get caught with a really genuine piece, he will be invited for a free-of-charge-accomodation in the above mentioned state owned hotel. Despite everything: the trade with replicas and with a minimum chance even with genuine antiquities runs. The dealers are speculating and counting on the good faithness of the guests, who beleave that there is only a chance on the West Bank to get a real piece from Pharaonic times. They are looking for a chance to get a genuine piece of the wealth of the area. But, as said before: Finally is lucky, who gets a copy.

Background of this almost despaired business is, that todays Upper Egypt economically is the poor area of the state. Anyhow, the south possesses the Pharaonic highlights. Between Abydos with the fantastic temple built during the reign of Setoy I. (approx. 1291 - 1278 B.C.) and dedicated to Osiris, the god of the underworld, in the north until the giant rock temples in Abu Simbel in the very south, constructed under Setoy's son Rameses II. (approx. 1279- 1212 B.C.) to honor himself and his wife Nefertiti. Upper Egypt is the real "Treasure House" for cultural tourists, in its centre located Luxor. But the profits meanwhile are creamed off by big companies. In an area where almost everybody lives from tourism. What still remains from the profit-making business, predominant will be made on Luxor's East Bank. So for the "West Benchlers" only crumbs are leaving. Who wonders that the relation between the inhabitants of the West Bank and Luxor City is as heartly as in Germany the friendship between the fans of Borussia Dortmund and Schalke 04.

Sure, all this is strongly simplified. But perhaps this story can help to let some expressions, some behaviours of the "West Benchlers" appear to you in another, in a clearer light. (Text and Fotos Wolfgang Sliwka)

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