Author, linguist, hotelier and village restorer Sevan Nişanyan traveled through all of Egypt recently. In a blog series called 'Notes on Egypt', he shared some insights on culture, religion and empires. This is a translation of his latest post.
The Botanical garden
The British had turned one of the islands across Aswan into a botanical garden. From all over their empire, on which the sun never set, they brought and planted exotic tropical trees and thereby created a park worthy of the legendary abundance of the country on the Nile. It is obvious that it once was a magnificent place. Now it's just deplorable. The trees haven’t been pruned for decades; half of them have died off, and it hasn’t occurred to anybody to root them out. Its alleys are littered with garbage. A fallah who looks weary of his life, pretends to be sweeping in slow motion with a palm leaf in his hand and slowly but surely pushes it to the wayside. At the same time, he’s peering over to us thinking ‘How could I ever snatch a lil’ baksheesh from them?’
We tried to visualize the process and wrote a plot.
The British leave. Instead, a local gentleman who grew up among them is appointed director. Let’s call him Kamil Bey. Kamil Bey scolds and shouts at the staff, but he can’t hold sway. His budget is cut; they kick him down the ladder, because he looks British-minded and might be disloyal to the regime. He is replaced by the biggest asshole among the deputy directors who embezzles as much as he can pretending that he is having cobblestones laid on the paths, while making out fake invoices. One end of the park he allocates to the governor’s nephew to have him run a cafeteria, and the other end to some cabinet minister’s personal chauffeur, so that he can build a canteen there. When the government changes, they are brought to court due to the "war against corruption". They barely escape from a conviction. A new manager is not appointed for a while. The staff pretend to be working and get their salary. Each one of them settles in a corner, appoints his aunt's son as a broom seller and his uncle's buddy as a boatman. Years pass. Finally, someone who was exiled from Cairo is appointed as the new director. Where to begin with this callous structure? He attempts to spruce up the cafeteria and is laughed at. He tries to lay hands on the boaters ring and they bare their teeth. Henceforth, the poor man confines himself to his office, performs his five daily prayers and counts the days till his retirement.
Why is it like that?
The root cause is obvious. For the Egyptians, that park means nothing. It doesn’t correspond with anything in their lives; it doesn’t match with their collective vision. The work someone needs to put into it, won’t earn him anything. Yet, if he performs his five prayers, he will earn more social reputation and spiritual rewards for his house than dozens of exotic trees would have brought.
What is even worse is that the park is a symbol of British hegemony. By building that park, they demonstrated their power and superiority. Is there any difference from building pyramids and temples? No, there isn’t. With it, they are stating that ‘our power is as vast as the ocean, and we haven’t earned it in vain. We have earned it in virtue of a realm of beauty whose secrets will be revealed to you only if you study for a lifetime and gain the knowledge of our sublime scholars.’
So, down with the English garden!
But why didn't they continue that knowledge? Why didn't they take that symbol of British hegemony and appropriate it? Why didn't they make it a part of their own social vision? Let me put it differently: Why was Kamil Bey defeated and removed? Is it that the Egyptians can’t think properly because of Islam and can’t appreciate the knowledge of the Brits? Is that the reason?
Well, it’s a long story. I would have to write forty articles until I could convince you. Let me tell you my own opinion briefly.
The British were defeated and could not stand behind their achievements, they did not use it as a new starting point. The symbols of hegemony, i.e. science, arts and religion, only thrive if they are backed by a devastating military force, and their function is to carry and legitimize power. Once power extinguishes, its symbols extinguish, too. By English, of course, I mean not only the British, but the whole Western world. Between 1914 and 1945 that part of the world devoured and exhausted itself. The West tried to maintain its hegemony for a while under the supervision of the US, though, but that is just window dressing. They were expelled from eighty percent of the world. They showed the white feather and left. The higher sciences, like the gods of ancient Egypt, followed them after a while. The meltdown is still going on.
If you don't have armies behind you, your royal tombs will eventually be looted, and your botanical garden will fall prey to the canteen guy and the boatmen.
Aga Khan
The site that touched my heart the most in the whole country was the Aga Khan Mausoleum on the opposite bank of Aswan. We couldn’t see the inside because there was no custodian; we couldn’t get anywhere near it. But the surrounding area looked the way we thought Egypt ideally was supposed to look like. One side is a completely barren sand desert. Further down, there is a tiny bay on the Nile, a few palm trees, a shabby cafeteria that looks abandoned, a camel dozing in the sun. Opposite that, there are some islands sprouting with fertility and sailboats. The water is deep blue and crystal clear. Several domed Mamluk mausoleums can be seen on top of the distant hills.
As you know, Aga Khan was one of the richest men of the world at the time. He managed to get into the innermost circle of the British elite and created the concept of 'jet set' almost single-handedly. When he passed away in 1957, he preferred to lie in the lap of the desert, in the most magical spot of all Egypt. His tomb is majestic. But it has something to it that has been unparalleled in the last hundred years: It is majestic without being presumptuous. It abided by the classical forms; it doesn’t burst out its power. Rather it whispers with an insinuating voice.
We had visited the museum of Aga Khan’s son in Toronto last year, some of you may remember. I guess there is no one who reflects upon East and West, Islam and the modern world, as deeply as they do. Where did they get that power from? Maybe they felt the need to tell the West, whose highest peaks they had climbed, "But I am not one of you".
This is the same place (but I didn't take the photo, it's by courtesy of the Internet).
Originally published: https://nisanyan1.blogspot.com/, Tuesday, Februaray 23, 2021
Translated from Turkish by Taner Ulupinar
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