I don't know why I have never been to Siwa. I've read about it, seen pictures of it, and heard about it as having a magical ambiance found nowhere else. Last month, I decided to take the 800km trip from Cairo to one of the only places in Egypt that has preserved its heritage and authentic traditions: The Siwa Oasis. A friend who lives in the Marsa Matrouh governorate, to which Siwa is affiliated, told me a celebration takes place annually in Siwa when the October moon is full and to celebrate the date harvest. He added that it was traditional for Siwans to hold weddings at this time and that all the treasures of the oasis were then on public display. I needed no further reason to pack my bags and head for Siwa. I called a friend, Mohamed Al-Kabani, who owns an eco-lodge in Siwa, asking him if I could stay in his place. He arranged for me to be guided by expert Yehia during my tour. I arrived in Siwa at night and was greeted by Yehia. He took me on his tricycle – the Siwans call it a tok-tok – ready for what the Siwans call “tourism” and what I called the “tourism day”. Yehia said the oasis was “very crowded these days because of the tourism.” I looked around but could see no tourists. The roads were nearly empty. We arrived at the Al-Dakrour Mountain where the festivities were supposed to be taking place. There were many commercial tents, lots of neon lights and plenty of children's toys and sugarcane on display. At the end of the market we arrived at a huge circle formed of men holding hands reciting zikr prayers in praise of God and singing religious songs. Inside the circle were the elders lined up in straight rows, and some other men waving their hands like maestros. Being a photographer, I look at such scenes in a particular way. Closed circles that include men with their backs towards me do not make good photographs. The men prevented me from entering the circle by holding their hands more strongly when I attempted to get in. It was dark, and they were wearing a uniform of white galabiyas which made shooting their dark complexions nearly impossible. I looked around and saw a rock stairway and rock rooms 100 metres above. I went up to take some pictures, only to find huge cooking pots laid on the ground. I decided to call it a day. On the way back, I asked Yehia about the pots. “Tomorrow the most important person in the tourism will be present,” he said. “Will there be tourists,” I inquired. “No, the chief cook will be present,” he answered. “And where are the tourists? Where are the dates,” I asked. “There are no tourists, and there are no dates,” he quipped. Was I in Siwa for the wrong reasons? Heading back to the house, I was treated to a delicious Siwan meal cooked with dates, flour and olive oil called taglantini. The Siwans speak the Amazighi language, which is completely foreign to my ears and tongue. The inhabitants leave their doors open at night, and there are no locks on the doors. There is complete security in Siwa. The next morning I had a chance to take a closer look at the eco-lodge where I was staying. It was made of karshif, a salt rock extracted from the White Mountain near the Great Siwa Lake. Karshif is very solid and keeps in the heat in winter, and together with palm fronds it is the material out of which traditional Siwan houses are built. However, only two men, both over 70 years of age, know the secret of building with karshif, and this is why newer Siwan buildings are made of white stone and cement – very ugly in comparison to the karshif houses. Hagg Hamza, one of the two old men, told me that less karshif is being taken from the mountain today, and its price has soared. This was why no builders were learning to build with karshif anymore, he said, resorting instead to white stone and cement. Hagg Hamza's son added that karshif houses needed to be inhabited all the time so that the floor was continuously pressed against and the groundwater did not separate the house from the ground. It was 11am when we arrived at the Al-Dakrour Mountain. I saw the chief cook, a man in his 50s wearing a white galabiya and sporting a grey beard leaning on a thick cane. He was supervising the work of more than 20 cooks busy cooking food in the pots filled with vegetables and soup. Soon after this, religious songs filled the air, and I was taken to sit on a cushion on the ground. I was told that I was being honoured by taking the seat of leader of the Siwan tribes Abdel-Rahman Al-Demiri. The elders seated around me were leaders of the 11 tribes who had chosen Al-Demiri to lead them a long time ago. Al-Demiri explained that “tourism” had been taking place annually in Siwa for over 200 years and that holding gatherings to serve food presented by the tribes helped reconciliation efforts when problems ensued. They had kept this tradition since then, he said. He denied the story that the day was held to defuse fights between Bedouins from the east and Amazighi tribes from the west. I asked him about the “tourism” and why the day was called this when there were clearly no tourists around. Al-Demiri said the day had nothing to do with foreign tourists, but that a long time ago the area around the Al-Dakrour Mountain had been uninhabited and the Siwans had had to walk at least five kilometres to get there. During this walk, the Siwan children played, trade was active, and people got in touch with each other because they were going the same distance. Now that we had cleared up the “tourism” misconception, it was time to serve the food. The chief cook headed to the pots to taste each of them, adding salt to some. Young people lined up in long rows and started distributing the soup and bread in a flawless fashion that was fast, calm and orderly. As soon as the 300 plates were served, the chief cook shouted Allahu Akbar, and everybody started eating. There was room in the day to visit the Cleopatra Spring, one of the many natural springs in Siwa that got its name because it is said that Cleopatra herself once bathed there. Siwans young and old take to this spring for a swim and a day out, especially as there is a cafeteria in the vicinity. This, however, doesn't serve much food, as its owner said “there are not enough tourists to store food here.” I then headed to the Temple of Amun. Lying only a short distance from the Temple of the Oracle in Siwa, this has seen difficult days. Constructed during the ancient Egyptian 30th Dynasty, all that remains of the Temple of Amun is one wall with Pharaonic inscriptions and some white scattered rocks. The guard at the temple, or rather the wall, did not allow me to take photographs, for no apparent reason. Early the next day I visited the Sidi Suleiman Shrine, built in karshif and in a unique architectural style. Rumours abound about Sidi Suleiman among the Siwans. He is said to have been a religious judge who gathered the Siwans long ago and prayed to God in their presence to fend off attacks from enemies (the story resembles what happened to the Persian conqueror Cambyses when he failed to take Siwa in antiquity). Sidi Suleiman was once thirsty, the Siwans said, and when he hit his cane against the ground water came gushing out (the story resembles that of the Prophet Moses in the Quran). I waited for the convoy of tribal chiefs to arrive at the shrine. Holding the flag of the Al-Shazliya family, of which Siwans are followers, the convoy members started their zikr and praise of God. This was the “tourism festival”. The convoy finished the zikr with the unspoken promise to meet next year at the same place and at the same time.
