The date palm is integral to Egyptian village life. The tree grows everywhere and its every part is utilized: fruits as a food staple; wood beams for building; fronds for roofing and fencing materials; coir-like fibers for woven or braided lashings; “waste products” for firewood.
In a village near Aswan, we visited the workshop of a man who makes crates from date palm wood. We had been seeing the simply framed crates brimming with red tomatoes for many days, piled and strapped on pickup trucks and wagons, stacked on roadsides and in markets. This was one of those rare opportunities to witness a master craftsman at work. The man had been fashioning crates his whole life. His coordination and manipulation of materials were truly seamless. We were fascinated.
Seated on the ground, in gallabiyya robe and headdress, he transformed the shafts of the palm fronds into framing materials with an assassin’s intensity. Unlike bamboo, the palm frond stem is solid in its middle. In its “green” undried state, it is supple yet strong. The craftsman worked barefoot, using both feet and both hands to hold, measure, chop and taper the crate parts. His big toes and second toes grasped and moved the wood with the dexterity of a thumb and forefinger. His machete fell in even, precise strokes. He punched holes of different calipers through the greenwood by hammering a simple metal tool with a block of palm wood, generating a slowly mounting pile of plugs which would later be burned.
Village craftsman transforming palm frond stems into tomato crates.
As he assembled the crate, the craftsman worked with a detached concentration. He was able to both look up and answer questions while finding and fitting the pieces he needed, like someone casually solving a Rubic’s Cube and carrying on a conversation. Everything was within arm’s reach. He first built the base and corners, then worked inward with lateral struts and ingenious side braces, using his palm as a mallet to secure the pieces into the frame, adjusting all the while.
We could have watched all day. In that time he would have completed 20 crates worth 10 Egyptian pounds each, about 16 dollars. He happily crafted a mini crate for us, small enough to take home in our luggage, a humble treasure to remind us of one of the more remarkable moments on our journey through Upper Egypt.
Dried palm fronds create a windbreak for an onion plot.
One morning our tour guide Mohamed hired horse drawn carriages to shuttle us to the Temple of Horus in Edfu. Horus, the falcon headed god who frequently appeared on temple walls, had become one of my favorite ancient Egyptian characters. The boat docked at the edge of town and we were quickly seated in a carriage, riding through the village then up a short hill to the temple on the outskirts of town. The horses, by and large, seemed underfed, with bony hips and ribs sticking out. Their skinny bodies pulled us along, providing a livelihood for our carriage drivers. But what kind of living? I wanted to somehow buy our horse some extra food.
Falcon statue at the Temple of Horus, Edfu, Egypt.
I realized immediately what a foolish outsider’s reaction I was experiencing. Easy for me to impose my values and world view on the carriage drivers. (Although I must say that the animals for hire that we later saw around the Giza pyramids were cared for to a much higher standard.) My feelings were affirmed later when Mohamed recounted a story of an American woman who had been on a tour, and contacted him for the express purpose of returning to feed the horses in Edfu. She hired Mohamed for a private tour. They traveled to Edfu and purchased a sizable amount of apples. At the market, Mohamed talked her out of buying the much more expensive American grown fruits in favor of Egyptian apples. (Who knew they could grow apples in the desert?) They visited the local veterinarian’s office to cut the fruit up properly. But the mission didn’t exactly go according to plan. The carriage operators wanted to eat the apples themselves rather than squander such an extravagance on their horses.
It was hard not to feel a little sympathy for the horses at Edfu.
Was this concern misguided or simply misunderstood? Is cultural exploration just a one way exchange? I see it both ways though I am clearly on the side of the horses. My recommendation is that if you do take the carriages at Edfu, consider tipping the operator in alfalfa, which only his horse will eat. A big pile of it!
After nearly two weeks in Egypt, of a few things, I am fairly certain.
You don’t visit Egypt for the alcohol. We were forewarned about this, and arrived accordingly with liters of rum and vodka from the Madrid Duty Free store, which is not normally the way we travel. Egypt’s two national beers, Stella and Sakara, are acceptable though not always available outside hotels. The wines are barely drinkable, and are, I believe, not as advertised. We avoided ice cubes. Soda water and limes were often hard to find. There were, however, plenty of tasty mixology partners in the fresh juices of hibiscus, orange, guava and mango.
Hibiscus growing in a sandy garden bed.
You don’t visit Egypt to sleep in. Every morning in every city and every town at an hour well before dawn the call for prayers beckons from loud speakers. Electricity and amplification have rendered obsolete previous generations of callers who stirred believers from the minaret towers rising above the mosques. I imagine much of the romance has disappeared with modernization as these calls are less than sonorous and more like squawk boxes or abrasive megaphones. Then again, there is much to see in Egypt so you might as well be up at the crack of dawn anyway.
You don’t come to Egypt to watch women. Especially in the south of the country, also known as Upper Egypt, femininity largely remains hidden from view. While women are seen doing errands in the towns and cities of the south, the realm of public places is very much a male world. Men are everywhere congregating, smoking shisha in the water pipe bars, drinking tea, working and traveling and hanging about, attending the mosques at prayer time. This changes considerably in the northern cities of Cairo and Alexandria, where women are seen out and about driving cars, shopping, visiting with boyfriends and girlfriends, and seem to enjoy a far more integrated public life.
If you love eggplant, Egypt is your destination. It’s served at nearly every lunch and dinner. You might think ratatouille was one more gift to civilization from the ancient Egyptians’ trunk of the tree. By all means come to see the stunning antiquities. But you might also visit Egypt for its otherness, for its unique place at the crossroads of Africa and the Middle East, somewhere between post-colonial independence and the thorns of contemporary democracy, between a world still shaped largely by hand and one embracing all the tools of modern technology.