A dear old man and a heart-warming coincidence at King Tutankhamun's tomb

Today marks 100 years since the date King Tutankhamun’s was discovered! ~this is about a little coincidence we were moved by the day we visited the tomb.

Dad had always dreamt of visiting Egypt.  We all became captivated by a paperback book he obtained, all about the young king and the discovery of his tomb in the Valley of Kings on the west bank of the Nile, Luxor.  My older sister Emma and I had become obsessed with King Tut; we had both done school projects on him, we knew the main trivia off the top of our heads.  -How his was the only tomb discovered almost intact - as back in the days of tomb-robbers they were more interested in getting their hands on the contents of the opulent tombs for the big boys, like King Seti I or Ramesses II.  Excavations by tomb robbers had in fact buried the teenage-King-Tut’s already less significant tomb into deeper silent concealment.  It was the relentless faith and efforts of archaeologist Howard Carter for a few seasons, bank rolled by Lord Canarvon that finally saw the tomb of King Tut discovered on 4 November 1922. 

So, around a year after Mum and Dad separated, Dad decided ‘let’s just go’ – perhaps to cheer us all up?  I remember on our way from Honiara to Cairo, Dad frequently squeezing us with excitement and saying “we’re on our way!!”

We visited Cairo first, the pyramids, the sphynx…incredible experiences.  Those were the days we could venture deep into the Great Pyramid, tomb of King Khufu.  We would’ve walked right to the heart of it but the passage was full of many boisterous local young men clambering through, shouting and jostling.  My sister became increasingly alarmed (I was fine, and a little irritated with her, haha, though I would also hate it now).  We weren’t halfway in when Dad decided we had better turn around for Emma’s sake, so we began pressing our way back to the outside.  At the same location we enjoyed a camel ride, then visited stately mosques,  and of course the magnificent Cairo Museum.  This is where the iconic Mask of Tutankhamun is displayed, along with his other glittering treasures, items placed in his tomb to furnish his trip to the after-life.

We made our way on a night train to Luxor; Dad had insisted we stay at “The Winter Palace”, the very hotel Lord Canarvon was a guest at.  Finally, the morning had come to visit the infamous “Valley of Kings and Queens”, a ferry-ride across to the west side of the River Nile, to an enchanting vast desert space with sweeping hills either side and craggy banks, punctuated with mind-blowing ancient sites. The grandness of Queen Hatshepshut’s Temple, huge tombs for the well-known Pharoahs of the past, Ramesses, Seti, and others. In one place we saw a tiny foetus skeleton in a glass case, entombed with his older brother who had suddenly died, causing their pregnant mother to miscarry. Intriguing stories that brought this fascinating history to life before our eyes.

Then - the main event, for us anyway. It felt rather serious being briefed to enter King Tut’s tomb.  “No photos” were to be taken, as the in the past they had realized the glare of the camera flashes were beginning to fade the exquisite hieroglyphics and stories depicted in the colourful art on the walls.  If we wanted a record of any of it we were to buy postcards from the visitors centre.  Descending the stairs deep into the rocky depths we knew this was extremely special.  The tomb itself was relatively small, it felt the size of a 4-bedroom home; contrasted to Ramesses’ sprawling tomb which we had also walked through.  Tourists were kept at a distance to the walls on a platform with handrails.

Our tour guide was a kind and knowledgeable man.  Not quite the “attractive lady” who had taxied with us all around Cairo but he definitely did the job with equal quality.  We stopped for refreshments at the tourist centre located near the famous tomb where tourists, guides and locals bustled about.  Our guide introduced us to one of the local ‘guardians’ of the tomb - one of the men whose fathers had been part of the team of locals excavating the site some 65 years prior.  This particular old Egyptian man had a gentle countenance and smiling eyes.  We had a ‘conversation’, interpreted by our guide.  You could see the old man enjoyed being there, perhaps it helped him feel close to the memory of his father.  He must’ve grown up nearby, he recalled the excitement when Howard Carter discovered the tomb.  They were a direct link to that time and important people to have around.

Dad had our King Tut paperback book with our belongings – it may seem strange now, but these were the days before we had access to information at our fingertips, a book was the only option for a quick handy reference and could be helpful.  He took it out and showed it our guide and the elderly gentleman.  One sensed they already thoroughly knew all the history documented in it, however they humoured us and showed some interest. 

Dad explained that this book was the reason we had fallen in love with Egypt and always planned a trip over.  The man listened and smiled, nodding constantly with a genuine warmth.  Dad opened it and began turning the pages, particularly around the pages where there were photographs of the excavation as we knew that was especially relevant.  I was beginning to feel embarrassed – ‘they don’t care about our book’-  I just knew it deep down.  However, suddenly the man gasped and stared.  His wrinkled worn finger pointed at a photo, then he clasped the book with both hands.  He was repeating a word and our guide gazed from him to us. 

The guide began…“he says this is his father…?”  The older man began repeating “my fazza” over and over, as he gripped the book, locked in on that photo.  He was in a moment all to himself as he drank in this image; then tears began streaming down that gentle face.  His eyes were still smiling but alight with delighted depth as they welled up and overflowed.  Such joy and love!

My own father who also adored his own father also felt emotional.  It was an extraordinary moment when you consider this was an old Egyptian, in 1987, in a poor dusty area in Southern Egypt who would’ve never had access to things like cameras growing up, hadn’t seen his beloved father in decades, and probably wouldn’t own a photograph let alone of his adored father.

Of course – Dad insisted the man keep the book – more tears.  Repeated thank yous and clasping of dads and our hands.  Gazing at his father’s photo again, shaking his head, those shining eyes still brimming, tears in his moustache and cheeks glistening with moisture.  It struck me at the moment and remained with me; just how treasured the memory is of a good and loving father. 

Dad took then took this photo to remember this; of our guide, the old man, Emma and myself.  It was a very significant thing for me about visiting the infamous pharoah’s tomb.  How lovely it was to bless that dear old Egyptian man that day.