The dispossession of the Nubians has resurfaced, writes Rania Khallaf, this time on stage Some two years ago, novelist Haggag Odoul called for an independent Nubian state -- an unprecedented move that antagonised even some of the most sympathetic non-Nubians. It is a theme that has come up again and again since most of Nubia was inundated following the building of the High Dam. Much ancient heritage was salvaged, and Nubians were relocated, but a sense of lost nationhood that probably dates all the way back to feuds between the ancient kingdoms of Upper and Lower Egypt has continued to dog the Nubians, among whom writers and artists have been the most outspoken about it. At the Hanager Theatre last week, the issue was voiced in rather quieter tones as Nubia.com -- a play based on three novels by Idris Ali, written by Hazem Shehata, one of many young talents killed in the Bani Souief theatre fire two years ago, and directed by Nasser Abdel-Moniem -- was preceded by a very convincing Nubian zaffa (wedding procession), complete with women in colourful dresses, men in white robes, and African rhythms setting the scene. This seemed apt considering the play's roots in modern Nubian literature, Ali having inspired its conception. Dongola, one of the three novels, a kind of trilogy representing three generations of Nubians before and after the Dam, was the first book by a Nubian to be translated into English, and it received the Arkansas Press Award for Arabic Literature in Translation in 1997. Nubian literature in Arabic begins with poet Mohamed Abdel-Rehim Idris, whose diwan appeared in 1948, followed by Mohamed Khalil Qassem's novel Shamandoura in 1964. Ali presents an organic extension of Qassem's work; and true to form, the play tackles the forced displacement of Nubians in the 1950s. It involves a debate between Ghada, whose Nubian father married a Cairene, and Simone, a Frenchwoman who was once married to a British archaeologist working in Nubia -- resulting in an appropriately detached perspective on the issue of Nubian nationalism. After the adaptation of Odoul's "People of the River", this is the first play about Nubia to find its way to the Egyptian stage, a welcome offering. Stage adaptations of novels seems to be the fad, indeed, with novelist Sonaalla Ibrahim's The Committee premiering at the National Theatre this summer. Abdel-Moniem has directed several plays based on literary work, including novels by the late Abdel-Hakeem Qassem and the late Yehia El-Taher Abdallah. He feels it is an established trend by now, adding that "the richness and originality" of Nubian literature affords a way out of ready-made formulae, often caught up in the tentacles of commercialism. Does this reflect a dearth of sound script, though? "It does," Nasser retorts. "Writing for the stage is interactive, which makes it more difficult than any other. It needs skills that seem to be lacking these days." It can be argued that the longing for a lost homeland -- the one theme of Nubian literature -- is as ready-made as anything, however. Is it really appropriate for contemporary theatre? On actually watching the play, the pleasant surprise is that it is. The play opens with the protagonist, Awad Shalalie (Osama Abdel-Moniem, who also played the lead in People of the River ), putting up Nubia.com, his just finished web site, which includes an account of his life with pictures of traditionally decorated Nubian houses. The web pages appear on a large screen, speaking of perpetual homelessness and of the 44 villages that were drowned in Lake Nasser. Awad pokes fun at the Aswan governor, highlighting the discrepancy between what the Dam promised in the way of economic growth and industrialisation for all Egyptians and the bleak reality it actually implied for the Nubians. The actor was brilliant at maintaining a penetrating, slightly self-mocking sense of humour -- an attitude characteristic of Nubians. Another aspect of southern culture is brought to the fore while Ghada is teaching the village girls the alphabet: each letter signals a love song. Awad's relationship with Simone, which ends with marriage, is much better portrayed in the book, though the body language spoken on stage somewhat makes up for the loss of depth. The love scene is beautifully choreographed, and when Simone turns to Awad and says, "I have three nationalities: French, English and Egyptian; what do you have?" the question has remarkable force for the audience. It reintroduces questions of identity in a rather touching manner. North-South dialogue is replayed on many levels, with a blend of traditional Nubian, Egyptian and Western music. All three novels have something to say about it, but the storyline comes from "Playing on the Nubian Mountaintops" (2005), in which the crisis is viewed in terms less exclusionist than Odoul's. According to Ali, "Nubia is no fairytale in this play. On the contrary, the realities of Nubians' lives, their aspirations and the new self-perception with which they embark on the future, is really what it's about." The day the village is evacuated is among the most powerful scenes, with the grandfather refusing to budge and his granddaughter, with bitter irony, persuading him of the heaven that awaits them in Komumbu: running water, electricity etc. Yet soon enough the villagers, gathered around Awad, are complaining of the lack of all such things: "Look, Awad, the Nile is gone!" And so it ends -- dramatically. But already Awad, once closed-minded and ethnocentric, has affirmed the ultimate integrity of north and south. photo: Mohamed Assim
