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Ancient Egypt Magazine

Issue Three - September / October 2000

Changing Times, Ancient Values

The families who live on the West Bank at Thebes, and who earn a living from the traditional ways of cultivation and tourism, are probably undergoing more changes now than they have in the last five millennia. Close family ties extending across the generations, generous hospitality, and – a certain stubbornness – have helped these people to endure, and enjoy, a way of life not so far removed from their ancestors.

To Michael Ackroyd, they are more than the people of Qurna – they are his close and welcoming friends.

I have been visiting the West Bank on a regular basis for many years and in this time I have come to know and love several of the extended families who live below the mountain and above the tombs. With these families on the West Bank the bond runs very strong and deep. I have seen births, marriages and deaths here and shared in the joys and sorrows of these fine people – the fun times and the feuds, and now, the way it will all change.

If you are on a standard tour of the West Bank, in your allotted three or four hours you will be whisked to the Valley of the Kings, Deir el Bahri and the Colossi of Memnon – oh, and maybe an alabaster factory! Behind all this activity revolving around the city of the dead, there is the city of the living – the uniquely placed and uniquely strange village of Sheikh Abdel Qurna, often called Gurna for short.  

The people who live in Qurna are Saidi people – that is to say, Upper Egyptians. From Beni Suef to Aswan, these people count themselves as different to those from the Delta. Egyptologists will tell you that these people are the direct descendants of the Ancient Egyptians, and this is of course so. In Qurna, however, many of the families trace their descent back to three brothers who came from Arabia – not Bedouin but Arab. The branches of the family I know are the Horabati – the “Warriors” – an extended network of cousins and cousins of cousins. My first friend in Egypt, Mohamed Hag Ali Hotabaya, is a Horabati. He is the best of friends – quick to laugh, incredibly hospitable and generous, and (luckily for me) like so many of the villagers he speaks excellent English. On the other hand he is also quick to take offence and very obstinate. I remember he once confessed to me that he thought his brain was made of granite! His mother gave me first home-cooked food so many years ago and now I am watching Mohamed’s three young sons grow up.

The houses here are mud brick, of course, and with very thick walls. Within the house it is more than likely that the mother will be in charge even in such a male dominated society and she will certainly be involved in all major family decisions. Women may still walk outside the house covered in the traditional Islamic fashion, but please believe me – there are as many capable and intelligent and formidable women here as you would find anywhere! Perhaps they do not have quite so much opportunity in later life to study or work outside the house. Most of the cooking is done with gas cylinders although bread is still baked in traditional ovens. The main difficulty to living above the cultivation for the families is that there is no running water and thus all water has to be fetched up by the family. Sitting outside the house of an evening and watching the world go by – the tourists have long gone back to their boats and beds – the stone of the Ramesseum turns a warm gold. Nobody is a stranger here – it takes a lot of tea and cigarettes to pass the time.

The people of Qurna are uniquely placed to make a living from tourism. In the past, the sale of real antiquities and today the sale of reproductions of varying quality from the very poor to the exceptionally fine provided for many of the families. It is almost impossible to travel about the West Bank without being made very aware of the commercial instincts of the villagers. If there is something you need, the chances are you can buy it. Never let this put you off meeting and talking with the villagers; if you don’t wish to buy, a firm and friendly refusal is sufficient. But don’t spend the whole time repelling locals or you will miss out on an awful lot. Besides which, much of what is for sale is nice quality and very cheap and the money will go directly to those who are in need of it. On the whole, the standard of living here is not so high and the average income can be astonishingly low, very much lower than in Cairo, certainly.

Still today the staple of the family income is derived from the land and farming. It must have been a marvellous time in the fifties when Nasser redistributed the land of Egypt and the fellahin became landowners for almost the first time in five millennia. Yet the laws of inheritance are proving that continuing to divide the land up over subsequent generations can mean that a family may end up with a very small and not very profitable piece of land. The work is hard and, with the exception of contract tractor ploughing, little changed since Pharaonic times. A mattock is still used to break up the rich soil and crops are still gathered by hand. The crops themselves may have changed, with both cotton and sugarcane (two of the thirstiest plants) taking up thousands of feddans throughout the country, but traditional planting still takes place. Now the fields will support two crops a year but require artificial fertiliser.

In the years I have been visiting Qurna three main events have had a profound influence on the life of the village. The Gulf War – a decade ago, now – decimated tourism throughout the Middle East, and before Egypt recovered, the spectre of terrorism almost brought the country to its knees. The subject of terrorism is not within the scope of this small piece, but we should remember that the terrible date of 17th November 1997 was quite as appalling for the people of Qurna as for the poor and unfortunate tourists. Two of my friends were there that fateful morning and I believe (although we no longer discuss the incident) that they are marked forever.

The third event was not well reported in the west and that was the flash flood of November 1994 when freak rains brought a wall of water down from the mountains and through all the Wadis (including the Valley of the Kings) before dispersing into the cultivation. A huge amount of damage was done to the excavations at the Temple of Seti I and – even more catastrophic – several local people were killed and many houses utterly destroyed. Mud brick simply melted away in the storm as houses came tumbling down. The authorities had been preparing the ground for a new village to the north of Qurna for some time; it now became imperative to complete the project.

The new village has several names but is known locally as “Sayul” which simply means flood! The houses of breezeblock and fired brick have no air-conditioning and are thus terribly hot in the summer, but they do have running water. Here is the great choice for the families of Qurna. The strategically placed great mud brick houses of the old village – cool in the summer and warm in the winter – and the treasures of tourism (such as they are), along with the every present faint possibility of real treasure, give the whole area much of its character. But move to the new village and life becomes easier in terms of laundry and washing and water for drinking. Little by little each group of families makes their decision, some have been happy to go and others are very resistant. Shekh Tayib, the leading figure on the West Bank, will move and we will see what happens over the next few years.

Whatever happens, my dear family friend Mohamed el Adham is unlikely to be a part of it. He has been able to study in Cairo at a technological institute, and is doing very well, and has decided he does not want to have a life that revolves around the vagaries of the tourist industry. He talks for hours (another village characteristic!) of his dreams and plans for the future.

If you ever want to find me in Old Sheikh Abdel Qurna, ask for me at the Hassan Sheba house. A low yellow frontage half way up the hill with two doors is the outside face. The family inside is like my own, and has made my family and friends and me welcome for many years. UmAli and Jamilla look after the house and the family, and the many meals and teas I have enjoyed. Ahmed has been our welcome guest in England. Mohamed studies Agriculture for another year. Abul Naga, although just 19, is now the breadwinner of the family, working every day at Deir el Bahri on his soft drink stall. He embodies all the virtues of a Horabati. Ragab is very special and I worry about his future right now. Nagwa is growing up to be a beautiful young lady although it would not be polite to tell her so! And young Mahmoud who is starting to guide tourists to the more out of the way tombs and picking up very good English both at school, and from this traditional, though not very lucrative, occupation.

The father of the family, Hassan – the dearest, kindest man you could ever meet – died just last month and before his time, although we have to say it is as God wills it. I mentioned UmMohamed earlier who cooked me my first meal in Egypt. Well, she and Hassan were brother and sister and it was thinking of them that prompted me to write.

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