Into the Land of Egypt

Manawatu Standard, Volume LVIII, Issue 302, 19 November 1938, Page 11

Into the Land of Egypt

BY H. V. MORTON

(37th Instalment)

A BOUT a mile from the town of -ti-Biwa is a village called Aghourmi which, like the old town oi Siwa itself, is a mass of mud houses rising one above the other. Like a huge mastless brown ship, the village lilts itself above a green sea of palm trees. I was anxious to explore it because its houses are built over the ancient temple of the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon, so famous in ancient times. It was hero that the ram-headed god pronounced on human affairs those judgments whose wisdom drew - some of the most celebrated men of antiquity across the seas from Greece, and across the Libyan desert to tho remote shrine.

I had mentioned to the Mamur that I should like to see Aghourmi and, just as I was setting off one morning, a young man camo riding on a donkey to say that the Sheik of Aghourmi was ready to conduct me round the village. A short drive through palm groves, where half-naked men climbed like monkeys among the crested tree-tops, brought me to the hill of Aghourmi. A man of middle age, wearing a white outer garment which is a survival of the Roman toga, and is to be seen all along the north-western shores of Egypt, was waiting in front of a mud house, obviously that of the big man of the village And he was obviously the big man. We shook hands, and he politely motioned me towards the door of his house. Through the corner of my eye I caught sight of his women-folk excitedly peering down through a halfshut window; but I pretended not to notice them.

Married women are more carefully guarded and are less visible in this oasis than in any part of Egypt.

WE ascended a flight of mud stairs and emerged on a square roof exposed to the full blaze of the sun. The house reminded me of the tomb drawings and tomb models of the houses of Ancient Egypt. Several doors led from the roof to rooms built around it, and in one of them, whose shutters were drawn against the sun, wo found a table covered with food.

There were biscuits, sweet limes, pomegranates, a soft delicious kind of date, called Sliengbel, which must be eaten straight from the tree, bananas and little plates of nuts. Two or three young men came in, the sons of the house, and, after sitting for some time making polite conversation about nothing, I was asked to help myself to dates and pomegranates, while the Sheik performed the solemn ritual of tea making. Unlike the Arabs and tho Egyptians, who love coffee and drink it at all hours of the day and night, the Siwans love green tea. The making of this tea is a stately ritual. It is a notable compliment to bo asked to pour out the tea, but it is not etiquette for a newcomer to accept ; lie must throw up bis bands in feigned dismay and say that ho is unworthy to do so. The man who makes the tea is called the “Sultan,” and when Siwans gather together on social occasions they elect one of their number to be the “Sultan” rf the party. . Every “Sultan” believes that ho is the best tea-maker in Siwa.

THE Sheik first rinsed little glasses in boiling water from a kettle that stood on a brazier of charcoal. Ho then opened a chest that contained several compartments. One was full of green tea, one full of black tea, a third full of soft sugar and a fourth full of mint leaves. He carefully and judiciously measured a small quantity of green tea, added a pinch or two of black tea and poured a little boiling water into th lie°smelt the aroma and poured the whole brew away. His next effort was more successful. He added boiling water and -poured himself a small quantity of the tea, which he sipped critically once or twice At tho first sip he appeared doubtful, and I half expected to see him

THE HIDDEN SHRINE

pour it away again, but his second sip reasured him, and, with a grave nod of the head, he handed me a little glass full of the scalding liquid. I told him that it was delicious, although it was really too bitter to be pleasant. As soon as I had drunk the tea, the ceremony was repeated. A second glass was given to me, and this time the tea was sickly-sweet with sugar. When, with many compliments, I had drunk this, the tea-mak-ing took place for the third time. The third glass was not only sweet but was flavoured witli mint. It is etiquette always to drink at least three glasses. You must never refuse. Sometimes the host will offer six glasses or nine. (I am glad to say that this never happened to me!) The Siwans believe that tea is good for you ; but should you feel ill, they recommend the eating of sweet limes. I was glad when the Sheik eventually led the way toward Aghourmi. The village, like Siwa, was found to be unsafe some years ago and is no longer occupied. It towered above us like an anthill or like something made of crumbling brown pie-crust. We ascended a path that led up to the one gate of the village, an entrance that for centuries was guarded day and night. The main street wound its way upwards between mud .walls, losing itself now and then in an incredible rat-run of narrow tunnels leading to dark little cave-like houses inhabited now only by jackals and smokes. We emerged on the ramparts where we had a superb view of the oasis. The feathery heads of date palms lay below us mile after mile, and beyond

them the Libyan desert stretched to the horizon like a pale gold ocean. What interested me more than the warren of deserted houses were the remains, to be seen in tho lowest stratum, of the temple of Jupiter Ammon. Where walls have collapsed, the splendid stones of an Egyptian temple are visible covered with smoke-blackened hieroglyphs and figures of gods and godesses Some of these stones are as large as the stones of the Pyramids of Gizeli.

I HAD forgotten to take an electric torch with me, but by the light of matches I managed, by mounting on the mass of rubble, t.o examine the stones. They looked to me like the remains of a Ptolemaic temple, but I am not sure of this. It is impossible to say how much of the temple lies hidden by the enormous mass of houses built all over and on top of it. No competent archaeologist has, J believe, ever examined these remains, and it would be worth while for the Egyptian Govrnment to send someone to“'look at them. What remains of the temple of Jupiter Ammon has been untouched and invisible since the end of the Roman period. It may be that beneath this nowdeserted village arc the remains of tho shrine in which Alexander the Great put his questions to the Oracle, and, if so, their discovery -would be one of the great archaeological romances of our time. The Sheik told me that there are local stories of secret passages running from Aghourmi to the now-de-stroyed temple at Omm Beyda, about a quarter of a mile awaj% where the Fountain of the Sun, which was mentioned by Herodotus, is tho most famous of all Siw-a’s springs. There was a legend in antiquity that black sightless fishes lived in this deep spring and bad some connection with the temple worship. . . I left the village ot Aghourmi with the conviction that a more interesting and speculative site for excavation does not exist in Egyptian territory. Nothing is known about the Oracle of Jupiter Ammon except a few stray references scattered about ancient literature. The fanaticism of the inhabitants and the remoteness of Siwa made it impossible to examine tho remains until recent times. . , Now that the evacuation ot Aghonrmi is complete, fame may. await the archaeologist who is able to tear down the mud houses and find whatever may lie beneath them. (To be continued.)