Amin Howeidi* reflects on recent Arab history amid the warm tones of the light of Upper Egypt Visits to historical landmarks are reckoned not in weeks or days but in hours. Aswan is such a location, one, moreover that had long been destined by Egyptians, regardless of the formidable obstacles that had to be and were overcome, to stand as tangible testimony to the fact that they are capable of miracles if circumstances are propitious and they set their minds to it. On a neighbouring seat in the luxurious lobby of the New Cataract Hotel there was a Saudi gentleman on his own. We exchanged greetings and other such pleasantries. I asked him whether he was here for business and for how long. He told me that he had come the previous day from Riyadh in order to see the High Dam and that he would be returning home in a few hours. Depressed by the current state of Arab despair, he had wanted to see a symbol of Arab glory. He had read much about the High Dam, a landmark of Arab defiance against foreign influence and the forces of nature, and believed that this would restore some of his vanquished hope. He added movingly, "Can you believe it? The person who I hired as a guide told me that the dam threatens to turn into a disaster that will engulf the whole of Egypt in a few years' time. She said that it had been scientifically proven that it causes powerful tremors, as a result of which the dam will crumble and the water in its reservoir will gush out and flood everything!" What could I say? Unfortunately, the guide had been preceded by a host of politicians, intellectuals and journalists who attacked the dam and those who waged the battle to build it. As you approach the High Dam, passing through the Aswan reservoir that our forefather's had built to tame the Nile, you come across a commemorative plaque upon which is written: "Years of collaborative effort have established a monument to Arab-Soviet friendship no less valuable or symbolic than the High Dam itself." This memorable statement was signed by Gamal Abdel-Nasser and carved in the stone next to it was not only a relief of that leader, but also one of Anwar El-Sadat in black. I could not help but wonder what prompted Sadat to have his image carved on that plaque. No battle can have two commanders, and the one that led the fight for the High Dam was Nasser. It was just by one of those quirks of fate that Nasser died a few months before its completion, leaving Sadat to inaugurate the dam and to mount that marble plaque in recognition of Nasser's feat but only after having ensured recognition of himself as the leader who inaugurated the completed project, thereby bequeathing yet another instance of that millennia-old custom of rewriting history. From a lookout point 76 metres above that commemorative plaque, the visitor beholds the vista of a mammoth reservoir stretching 500 kilometres into the distance. In Nasser's time that body of water was called Lake Nasser. It was later renamed the High Dam Lake, but recently orders have been handed down to reinstate its original name. Not that these fluctuations in appellation made a difference to visitors who continued to refer to it as Lake Nasser throughout, perhaps for the simple reason that ordinary people have feelers that keep them in touch with the truth. In the late 1960s a hydrofoil would take you on a scenic excursion to Abu Simbel. Not so anymore. Tourists are left to choose between an overland route and an airplane. In spite of its vast area, the lake's fish production is relatively meagre. One cannot help but wonder why efforts to increase its production have failed. Certainly its potential, together with the maritime harvest from the Nile, the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, offers the prospect of greater self- sufficiency and perhaps the ability to reduce meat imports from Romania, Sudan, Ethiopia and elsewhere. Were it not for the High Dam we would not have Toshka, which gets most of its water from Lake Nasser. This is how countries are built: brick by brick, and, in our case, the Aswan Dam, followed by the High Dam, followed by Toshka. Nor has such progress detracted from the breathtaking beauty of the Nile at Aswan, with its silent and mysterious rocky islands through which gracefully wind faloukas, and with its steep right bank upon which rests the mausoleum of Agha Khan and the grave of the beautiful Begum. The director of the Old and New Cataract Hotels is from Holland. His wife is from Luxembourg and they have a daughter. He oversees the management of this tourist complex with the assistance of Egyptian directors who are closer to friends than they are to employees. His wife, who gives English lessons to Aswani children, says that she feels that Aswan has become her home, so attached has she grown to the kindness of the people and the excellence of Egyptian cuisine. Her sentiments have been echoed by many a foreigner who has found comfort in the embrace of Aswan's warm and generous sun. As I was basking in this clement warmth I cast my mind back to when I first came to Aswan more than 60 years ago. It was 1940 and I had just graduated from the military academy. My unit was stationed in a beautiful location near the Aswan Dam (the High Dam had not been constructed yet) and my commander, who was drunk most of the time, posted me at a defence lookout situated atop a rocky cliff overlooking the dam. It was a long, steep climb, the weather was gruellingly hot, and I was soaked in sweat by the time I arrived. Only minutes after I reached my post, the sergeant on duty told me that the base commander was on the phone. "Who is it?" he asked in a slur. I answered loudly and clearly just as we learned in the academy: "Lieutenant Amin Hamed Ali Howeidi, commander, seventh company, first regiment, fourth infantry brigade, Sir!" "Well to hell with you!" he responded and broke out into a chuckle. He then gave me my first assignment, which was to lead a reconnaissance patrol down the Nile up to the cataracts in order to ascertain that there were no signs of enemy presence. I was to set off at dawn the following morning. He hung up without giving me any further information on what we might expect to encounter. Patrol? Enemy? That was serious! I tried to summon up any relevant directives from my studies, but my mind went blank. Fortunately, the duty sergeant stepped in. Aswan in those distant days was a small village; today it is a booming city. So much has changed, except the people; they have retained many of their customs and they are as kind and generous as always. I have had the opportunity to return to Aswan many times since then. Soon after my first posting I made my way with my unit in a modest "armada" down to Wadi Halfa, a trip that took four nights and three days. We set up camp near the "ice factory". Our mission was to defend Salima Oasis from the Italians who were then occupying Libya. Another opportunity presented itself when I had become ambassador and minister. I accompanied the great construction engineer, Sidqi Suleiman, who would be supervising the construction of the High Dam, in order to inspect the labourers who would be working around the clock in three shifts of 11,000 workers each amidst the blasts of dynamite and the rumblings of bulldozers and cranes that would be overhauling the terrain to prepare the way for the alteration of the course of the Nile. I visited the area once again in 1964 at the time I was ambassador to Baghdad, in order to attend the celebrations for the alteration of the course of the Nile. I will never forget that historic occasion which took place on board a ship in Port Bernice and which was attended by President Nasser and his vice presidents, Ahmed Ben Bella, Abdel-Salam Aref, Nikita Khrushchev and his foreign and defence ministers Gromyko and Garshiko. Ben Bella, whose Arabic at the time was not proficient, struck up a conversation on Arab unity and religion. Aref began to expound on the subject when Khrushchev interrupted him to ask, "Which is more important, unity of the working classes or Arab unity? And where do we [the Russians] fit into this unity?" He then lashed out against religion, citing the exploits of Rasputin under the Czars. Nasser responded that the problem was not religion but the clergymen. He then spoke of the tripartite invasion and how at the time he stood on the pulpit of Al- Azhar and proclaimed, "We will fight! We will fight! We will fight!" And we did fight, and we won and we nationalised the Suez Canal. At the Temple of Philae, perched on its island of stone, you hear the echoes of the tale of Isis and Osiris and you can see the red lines that the people were prohibited from crossing in the presence of the queen. This phenomenon persists until the present. Indeed, in spite of all our communications technology and all the fanfare about growing closer, the lines are perhaps sharper. The result is, everything is conveyed by an intermediary -- both the orders of the ruler and the wishes of the people. Inevitably, something is lost, added or distorted in the transmission. When you are in Aswan you feel that, then, the people had a cause. I asked myself what is our cause today at the national or supranational level. I have yet to find an answer despite the many years it has been since my last visit. * The writer is former minister of defence and chief of General Intelligence.
