An unexpected phone call was the beginning of my trip to the Bahariyya Oasis, roughly 360 kilometers away from Cairo, west of the Nile Valley and nearer to the Western Desert. “I’m going to look at some land tomorrow,” said my friend who was planning the trip, “I know you’re interested in this kind of thing, would you like to come?” My friend is good friends with the a powerful family elder there, and they were to be our door into the local community. Without hesitation, I moved back some appointments and the next day we were on the road.
I’d been to Bahariyya twice before, both times to El Bawiti, the largest of the oases, which we used as a base to launch our trips into the desert. I always slept in huts, camped out, or crossed one sand dune after the other with the sand rolling beneath my 4×4, but I had never explored the agricultural side of the oasis — which I did this time. At first it was odd to be there and feel like I’m in the countryside.
The residents of Bahariyya are very proud of their autonomy. For instance, declaring ownership of a land doesn’t warrant the acquisition of official papers, but is done amicably among the families. Not unlike Bedouins, they usually keep minimal interaction with the government and the government does the same in return. But ask them about their relationship with authorities and they are quick to remind you of their protests in 2005.
Central government had decided to put the Bahariyya oases under the Minya governorate, instead of Giza, and before this was decreed, word had gotten around. Bahariyyans were not particularly happy with such a change, as the Minya governorate is known to be a poor one, and they were afraid the quality of government services would start deteriorating.
Unaccustomed to carrying weapons, the locals went out in peaceful protest, cutting off the road to Cairo and the industrial railway tracks. (The industrial railroad carries away large amounts of iron ore which are quarried near the oasis. Bahariyya is the last waypoint before reaching the capital if you are coming from the other oases of Dakhla, Farafra or Kharga. There is no other paved road in or out.)
The villages of Bahariyya are as charming as its desert. Picture by Farida Helmy
“Mubarak was a very obstinate man, but we made him change his mind” said one middle-aged man proudly. “We made life stop, and they had to do what we want.”
But you can still sense a bitter tone when the locals talk about how the riches of the land are being taken away and they’re not being given anything in return.
And the poor quality of communication Bahariyya residents have with the government becomes apparent during the process of allocating land for farming. On the surface, land allocation seems very simple: any local who claims a piece of land effectively owns it. But within the community, claiming land becomes tricky business.
If people start feeling that you are trying to hoard land, or laying claim to more than you need, your reputation starts going downhill. And if you do acquire a large piece of good quality land, family and those who you owe favors will ask you to give them a part of it, since they don’t have enough. Refusals to such requests are difficult.
Politics aside, if you do claim land, you should have the funding to dig wells, fence it, level it, farm it and maintain it — a substantial amount of effort and money. If you don’t have the funding but have the political clout within the community to claim a piece, a good business is selling it off to outsiders.
Lacking any standing within the local community to protect their land, outsiders are always concerned about ownership legalities. The standard procedure is to buy the land twice.
Buy it once from the local owners who would tell others that this land is now yours, then buy it again when the government catches up and decides to sell what it sees as government land for those who are willing to turn the desert green. There is no sure-fire way to protect yourself, but it’s a risk that everyone there is taking.
Away from desert land, all politics happen back in the village, a mishmash of fenced fields, roads –paved and unpaved — and houses.
Most fields are drizzled with palm trees, making dates the main product of the land. Young palm trees as short as two meters off the ground start producing fruit and are the easiest to harvest since no climbing is involved.
But fields are not just for work, a lot of the social interactions take place there and around the wells that irrigate them. In summer, sitting in a reservoir of flowing water coming out of a well is a good way to avoid the heat. Having gone for a swim in one, I found it to be a perfect antidote for the sunstroke I felt coming on. And you don’t have to stop in winter as some wells gush out hot water.
Spots in the fields with special views, shade, or which catch a breeze are grounds for tea gatherings. “A friend of mine calls me and says, ‘where are you? Come sit with us in the field for a glass of tea.’ After I’m done another friend would call, and we’d all move to the next gathering. I can get through six or seven cups of tea in one day,” said our host, effectively describing social life in the village.
Away from the desert, all politics happen in the village. Picture by Farida Helmy
When not in the field, the men are back in the house. A house has a fence around it, with a front and back yard. Yards are either tiled in bright colors or covered with sand, with trees planted for fruit, shade, decoration or all of the above. Normally there are two floors, with the living area on the top floor and the living and guest areas on the ground floor.
Like all guests, we were quickly whisked into the guest room, the first room you see after you enter the house. This was where we sat, ate and slept — all on cushions placed on the floor. The guest room is strategically placed so that the rest of the household can go about their business without being disturbed by or disturbing the guests.
Before we entered, the women were given a warning and they all hid out of view. Our only interaction with women was eating the food they cooked. A bell rang and that signalled to the men that they should come pick up our next meal.
To leave the village is not as straightforward as to enter it. We were all packed and ready to go at eleven in the morning, but our hosts wouldn’t let us depart without more food to take away. First we were taken to the fields to pick some ripe dates off the palm trees, then some lemons off the trees. We returned to the car to find tens of kilos of olives waiting for us.
Constantly thanking our hosts for their generosity was not enough to get us off the hook. Our refusals of more fell on deaf ears and we were not left to go until we had a final four-course lunch.
Four hours after our initial attempt to leave, we were finally on the road back, with a trunk full of food for weeks to come.
– By Amr El Beleidy
Amr El Beleidy writes about the generous food culture of Bahariyya, and how it’s all in the rituals here.
About the Writer: Amr El Beleidy is a travel writer, blogger, an engineer by training and an entrepreneur, with a masters of science in Sustainable Energy Futures from Imperial, London. Follow his thoughts via his blog and on Twitter.
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