Arab News Blog

Dan Morrison, writing for the National Geographic blog, considers Egypt’s dispute with upstream Nile states and argues for Uganda or Ethiopia to become Cairo’s “water bankers”.

Lake Nasser, the 340-mile-long reservoir behind the Aswan High Dam, holds a whopping 157 billion cubic meters of water. But an estimated 10 billion cubic meters–nine percent of the water that reaches Lake Nasser each year–never makes it to a faucet or an irrigation ditch; it evaporates into the cloudless desert skies of southern Egypt. That’s enough drinking water for 20 million Egyptians–a quarter of the population.

Evaporation isn’t much of a problem in equatorial Africa, where the White Nile begins, and there’s a lot of fertile land as well. Egypt should invest some of its water there, rather than lose it to evaporation in the Sahara.

Looking south for security

Why couldn’t northern Uganda, which is returning to life after a two-decade reign of terror by the Lord’s Resistance Army, become an important supplier of food to Egypt? The same goes for the southern region of Sudan, which is almost entirely undeveloped and is also staggeringly fertile. Southern Sudan is already the object of an agricultural land grab by foreign investors. Egypt should be pushing to the front of the line.

The mighty Blue Nile begins in the Ethiopian highlands and supplies 59 percent of the Nile’s volume. Ethiopia currently leases 300,000 hectares of farmland to an Indian agribusiness, part of an effort to put 3 million hectares under foreign plows by 2013. There is no practical reason Egypt couldn’t partner with its ancient adversary to their mutual benefit.

All the Nile basin states need to use their water more efficiently. But the more water that is put to use near the sources of the Blue Nile, in Ethiopia, and the White Nile, in Uganda, the more water there will be for everyone.

In a sense Egypt is already pursuing that policy. It had invested in farmland in Uganda and southern Sudan, recently even pledging a record $300m in projects there. Part of this is political: Egypt, like everyone else, is anxious about the coming partition of Sudan (and possibly, renewed civil war) and wants to make sure the new state is friendly towards Cairo. But this type of thinking — “importing” water as food after investing in mega-farms — does not fully address the issue, either.

Dan is right to point out the waste of growing certain crops in Egypt:

Water-intensive cash crops like cotton and rice are irrigated using inefficient methods that haven’t changed since the days of King Tut. At a time when Egypt has become a net importer of food, it is exporting a great deal of its water in the form of cotton (100,000 tons a year) and rice (600,000 tons).

But the virtual water theory that underpins importing food sidesteps some of the important shifts that are necessary: in the Egyptian context, moving away from cotton (an export commodity for which the Egypt name is a premium brand), moving away from rice (a local diet staple — and an unusually high quality round grain, too), or even moving away from the admittedly silly principle of food autarchy (part of the political lexicon since Nasser at least) are political and socially costly. Also, to be able to import large quantities of food (which Egypt already does — it’s the world’s biggest wheat importer and even imports a majority of the quintessential Egyptian staple, the fuul bean) it helps to run a trade surplus, which is certainly not the case right now. And you might also want to protect yourself from the vagaries of international food prices, too. 

But the other — and perhaps initial shift needed in Egypt — is that the hysteria over the Nile that is prevalent in the media is largely supported by the government and by the commentariat, which is ready to pounce at any surrendering of the historic water claim of the last century. Does it have an actual basis in science, or has the government trapped itself into a nonsensical discourse over the river because of its sheer stubbornness about changing an international agreement that clearly benefits it? After all, new irrigation projects in which runoff water presumably runs back into the Nile won’t change things that much, and nor will hydroelectric dams in Ethiopia won’t stop the Nile flowing. It’s not like they are planning to divert the river into the Indian Ocean.  

If anyone out there has good material on the actual impact of some of the projects the upstream countries are interested in doing, do leave a comment — I find it hard to find this stuff.

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As part of the 50th Anniversary of the Aswan High Dam the Egyptian media has been writing a lot about the period. Here’s an interesting interview in Al-Masry Al-Youm’s English pages with a Nubian displaced by the High Dam, remembering the lost villages of Nubia and showing distinctly mixed views of Nasser.

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Last spring I did a post on the Egyptian holiday known as Sham al-Nassim, noting that it was one of only two Egyptian holidays still celebrated that (arguably at least) are survivals from Pharaonic times, and which are celebrated with equal enthusiasm by Muslims and Copts (other than purely secular days like National Day).

Now we’re at the other one. August 15 traditionally represents the beginning of the celebration (which lasts for two weeks) of Wafa’ al-Nil. Wafa’ al-Nil literally means something like “Fullness of the Nile” and refers to the Nile flood. (In earlier times the feast was celebrated whenever the Nile reached a certain height.)

Every summer, since the beginnings of human civilization (and long before), the Nile flooded. Until 1964,when the floodgates of the Aswan High Dam were closed. If you follow the above link on Sham al-Nassim you’ll find a comment by my former boss, former MEI VP Ambassador David Mack about his posting in Egypt in 1964-65, when he saw the last Nile flood. I came to Egypt the first time in 1972 — antiquity for many of my readers, no doubt, but after the end of the cycle that created Egyptian civilization. The old-timer expats recounted many tales of flooded basements to us young whippersnappers who’d never see the Nile in flood.

Herodotus said that Egypt was the gift of the river, and the Egyptian dating system was based on the heliacal rising of Sirius because Sirius rose with the sun as the Nile began to rise, and thus had a profound symbolism for Egypt. (Some say we still call August the “dog days” because of the rising of Sirius, the Dog Star, in August.)

The annual rise and fall of the Nile — a mystery to the ancient Egyptians, who had little rainfall and knew nothing of the rains of Equatorial Africa, though by Ptolemy the geographer’s time there was a vague tradition of the “Mountains of the Moon,” an early echo of the Ruwenzori, or perhaps the Ethiopian highlands — was the lifeblood of Egypt. The silt deposited when the river rose irrigated and fertilized the arable lands of the Delta. The rhythm of the Nile flood was the heartbeat of Egyptian history. The Pyramids were built at floodtime: farmers were unemployed because their farms were inundated, and the broader Nile allowed stones from Muqattam to the east to be carried by boat to Giza in the west. (The usual word for river in Arabic is Nahr, with one exception: historically the Nile has been classically referred to as Bahr al-Nil, the “Sea of the Nile.” In flood, with much of the arable land under water, it must have seemed more like a sea than a river.)

Anyone who has seen the Nile valley from the air knows how dramatically the desert is delineated from the sown: where the water goes, there is richness; where it does not, there is arid barrenness. And the flood deposited the silts that made Egypt the granary of the Roman Empire.

The Nile flood until 1964 was the pulse of Egypt, and the pulse of Egypt was the pulse of the ancient world. While I’m not an adherent to Karl Wittfogel’s “hydraulic” interpretation of the ancient world, there is truth in the power that the flood gave to a unified monarchy and a common religion: someone had to be in charge of making sure the river flooded. The traditional beginnings of Egyptian history are the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt, symbolized in Egyptian art by the lotus (Upper Egypt) and the papyrus (Lower Egypt): both plants intimately associated with the Nile.

The Egyptian God of the Nile, Hapi, was closely linked to the flood. (So perhaps I should wish you a Hapi Wafa’ al-Nil. Sorry.) And, of course, there was the mythological explanation of the flood as the river rising from the tears Isis shed for her brother/husband Osiris. And the resurrection of Osiris is itself a symbol of the renewal of life through the flooding of the river.

The flood and its relationship to political power is a common theme. One of the many great Mamluk historical compendia on Egypt, Ibn Taghri Birdi’s Nujum al-Zahira fi Tarikh Misr wa’l-Qahira, is a year-by-year chronology of Egypt from the Muslim conquest to his own day, and for every single year, he gives the height of the Nile flood.

Two of the great historical artifacts of Egypt are the Nilometer at Roda Island at Cairo, and another Nilometer at Elephantine Island in Aswan. The Nilometers are just what they sound like: they measured the rise of the Nile each year. One of the great historical compendia of the early 20th century is the multi-volume work by Amin Sami called Taqwim al-Nil, a book theoretically on the measurement of the Nile (the meaning of its title) which gives the level of the Nile flood for each year and describes the river and its dams, barrages and other controls in detail, but also links them to the annalistic history of Egypt’s rulers. It recognizes the genuine links between political power and the Nile.

The feast of Wafa’ al-Nil has all sorts of pre-Islamic and pre-Christian artifacts related to it. The Copts call it the “Finger of the Martyr” (isba‘ al-shahid) because they once tossed a saint’s relic into the Nile each year to assure the flood would occur, to placate the river gods, though as good Christians they would not have put it that way. Some legends say virgins were drowned in the Nile at flood time in ancient Egypt, and Egyptians have continued to drop small paper dolls, called brides of the Nile, into the river at the feast. (Islamists do not approve of this pagan survival of course, and the practice is said to be in decline since the end of the flood.)

For an account of the festival in the early 19th century, there is the classic work by Edward William Lane, in his Manners and Customs of the Modern Egyptians, and through the generosity of Google Books you can read it online; with the Wafa’ al-Nil account beginning on page 496 of the Everyman Edition at the link.

The rhythm of the flood created Egypt; the richness of the river’s silt sustained its civilization. There is much fertility symbolism involved with Wafa’ al-Nil, of course; the River God Hapi is depicted a male God with female breasts, and the Isis-Osiris-Horus trinity is intimately linked to the river. While Sham al-Nassim is at least arguably a survival of an Ancient Egyptian religious ceremony, there is no question about Wafa’ al-Nil.

From the unification of Upper and Lower Egypt under either King Scorpion or Menes (Mina) in about 3000 BC until 1964 AD, Wafa’ al-Nil was not just an annual excuse for a holiday. It was the country’s lifeblood. For the past 45 years, it is merely a symbolic remembrance of an annual event that will not return until, in some hopefully far distant future, the High Dam fails. But Egyptians still celebrate., though the Nile no longer floods.

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