Egypt's Farmers Fear Impact of Ethiopia’s Dam

Egyptian farmer Makhluf Abu Kassem, center, sits with farmers under shade of a dried up palm tree surrounded by barren wasteland that was once fertile and green, in Second Village, Qouta town, Fayoum, Egypt, Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2020. AP
Egyptian farmer Makhluf Abu Kassem, center, sits with farmers under shade of a dried up palm tree surrounded by barren wasteland that was once fertile and green, in Second Village, Qouta town, Fayoum, Egypt, Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2020. AP
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Egypt's Farmers Fear Impact of Ethiopia’s Dam

Egyptian farmer Makhluf Abu Kassem, center, sits with farmers under shade of a dried up palm tree surrounded by barren wasteland that was once fertile and green, in Second Village, Qouta town, Fayoum, Egypt, Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2020. AP
Egyptian farmer Makhluf Abu Kassem, center, sits with farmers under shade of a dried up palm tree surrounded by barren wasteland that was once fertile and green, in Second Village, Qouta town, Fayoum, Egypt, Wednesday, Aug. 5, 2020. AP

In the winter of 1964, Makhluf Abu Kassem was born in this agricultural community newly created at the far end of Egypt’s Fayoum oasis. His parents were among the village’s first settlers, moving there three years earlier from the Nile Valley to carve out a new life as farmers.

It was a bright and prosperous start. The region was fertile, and for four decades they made their living growing corn, cotton and wheat, The Associated Press reported.

Now 55, Abu Kassem looks out what’s left of his shriveling farm, surrounded by barren wasteland that was once his neighbors’ farmland — victims of dwindling irrigation in recent years.

“There used to be enough water to make all this area green. ... Now, it is as you see,” he said.

In the past, he and other villagers irrigated their farms through canals linked to the Nile River, Egypt’s lifeline since ancient times. It provides the country with a thin, richly fertile stretch of green land through the desert.

But there has been a loss of at least 75% of farmland in the village and the surrounding areas, according to Abdel-Fattah el-Aweidi, head of Gazaer Qouta Agriculture Association, overseeing the area.

Now, Abu Kassem fears that a dam Ethiopia is building on the Blue Nile, the Nile’s main tributary, could add to the severe water shortages already hitting his village if no deal is struck to ensure a continued flow of water.

“The dam means our death,” he said.

The exact impact of the dam on downstream countries Egypt and Sudan remains unknown. For Egyptian farmers, the daunting prospect adds a new worry on top of the other causes of mounting water scarcity. Egypt is already spreading its water resources thin. Its booming population, now over 100 million, has one of the lowest per capita shares of water in the world, at around 550 cubic meters per year, compared to a global average of 1,000.

Ethiopia says the electricity that will be generated by its Grand Ethiopian Renaissance Dam is a crucial lifeline to bring its nearly 110 million citizens out of poverty.

Egypt, which relies on the Nile for more than 90% of its water supplies, including drinking water, industrial use and irrigation, fears a devastating impact if the dam is operated without taking its needs into account.

It wants to guarantee a minimum annual release of 40 billion cubic meters of water from the Blue Nile while Ethiopia fills the dam’s giant reservoir, according to an irrigation official. That would be less than the 55 billion cubic meters Egypt usually gets from the Nile, mostly from the Blue Nile. The shortage would be filled by water stored behind Egypt’s Aswan High Dam in Lake Nasser, which has a gross capacity of 169 billion cubic meters of water.

“If the dam is filled and operated without coordination between Egypt and Ethiopia, its impact will be destructive to the whole Egyptian society and the state will not be able to address its repercussions,” said Egypt’s former Irrigation Minister Mohammed Nasr Allam.

It is estimated that a permanent drop of 5 billion cubic meters of Nile water to Egypt would cause the loss of 1 million acres of farmland, or 12% of the country’s total, he said.

Sudan says the project could endanger its own dams, though it would also see benefits from the Ethiopian dam, including cheap electricity and reduced flooding.

On Abu Kassem’s 16-acre farm, only a single acre is now cultivated. His family tried growing corn, but the plants died. They, like most others in the area, switched to growing olive trees, which use less water. But even those suffer.

“These trees haven’t seen water in over 40 days,” Abu Kassem said, showing a shriveled fruit.

With the water waning, many of the village’s 12,000 people have left, including Abu Kassem’s three brothers and his four sons.

Ihsan Abdel-Azim, 53, the wife of one of Abu Kassem’s brothers, moved with her family to work as doormen in Cairo in 2001.

“We had had no choice at the time,” AP quoted the mother of five as saying, sitting among her grandchildren during a visit to the village earlier this month. “Cultivating the farm became insufficient to feed my children. All roads led that way.”

Years-long negotiations among Egypt, Sudan and Ethiopia failed to reach a deal on the dam. The dispute reached a tipping point earlier this week when Ethiopia announced it completed the first stage of the filling of the dam’s 74 billion-cubic-meter reservoir.

That sparked fear and confusion in Sudan and Egypt. Both have repeatedly insisted Ethiopia must not start the fill without reaching a deal first.

Ethiopian Prime Minister Abiy Ahmed said the filling occurred naturally, “without bothering or hurting anyone else,” from torrential rains flooding the Blue Nile.

Sticking points in the talks have been how much water Ethiopia will release downstream during the filling if a multi-year drought occurs and how the three countries will resolve any future disputes. Egypt and Sudan have pushed for a binding agreement, while Ethiopia insists on non-binding guidelines.



This Ramadan, Relief and Hope Bump against Uncertainty in the New Syria

Residents walk in the market on the first day of Ramadan, the holy month for Muslims, in Damascus, Syria, Saturday March 1, 2025.(AP)
Residents walk in the market on the first day of Ramadan, the holy month for Muslims, in Damascus, Syria, Saturday March 1, 2025.(AP)
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This Ramadan, Relief and Hope Bump against Uncertainty in the New Syria

Residents walk in the market on the first day of Ramadan, the holy month for Muslims, in Damascus, Syria, Saturday March 1, 2025.(AP)
Residents walk in the market on the first day of Ramadan, the holy month for Muslims, in Damascus, Syria, Saturday March 1, 2025.(AP)

Sahar Diab had visited Damascus’ famed Umayyad Mosque previously. But as the Syrian lawyer went there to pray during her country’s first Ramadan after the end of the Assad family’s iron-fisted rule, she felt something new, something priceless: A sense of ease.

“The rituals have become much more beautiful,” she said. “Before, we were restricted in what we could say. ... Now, there’s freedom.”

As Diab spoke recently, however, details were trickling in from outside Damascus about deadly clashes. The bloodshed took on sectarian overtones and devolved into the worst violence since former President Bashar Assad was overthrown in December by armed insurgents led by the group Hayat Tahrir al-Sham (HTS).

This Ramadan — the Muslim holy month of daily fasting and heightened worship — such are the realities of a Syria undergoing complex transition. Relief, hope and joy at new openings — after 53 years of the Assad dynasty’s reign, prolonged civil war and crushing economic woes — intermingle with uncertainty, fear by some, and a particularly bloody and worrisome wave of violence.

Some are feeling empowered, others vulnerable.

“We’re not afraid of anything,” Diab said. She wants her country to be rebuilt and to get rid of Assad-era “corruption and bribery.”

At the Umayyad Mosque, the rituals were age-old: A woman fingering a prayer bead and kissing a copy of the Quran; the faithful standing shoulder-to-shoulder and prostrating in prayer; the Umayyad’s iconic and unusual group call to prayer, recited by several people.

Muslim worshippers pray during the Muslim holy month of Ramadan at the Umayyad Mosque in Damascus, Syria, Friday March 7, 2025. (AP)

The sermon, by contrast, was fiery in delivery and new in message.

The speaker, often interrupted by loud chants of “God is great,” railed against Assad and hailed the uprising against him.

“Our revolution is not a sectarian revolution even though we’d been slaughtered by the sword of sectarianism,” he said.

This Ramadan, Syrians marked the 14th anniversary of the start of their country’s civil war. The conflict began as a peaceful revolt against the regime, before Assad crushed the protests and a civil war erupted.

It became increasingly fought along sectarian lines, drawing in foreign powers and fighters. Assad, who had ruled over a majority Sunni population, belongs to the minority Alawite sect and had drawn from Alawite ranks for military and security positions, fueling resentment. That, Alawites say now, shouldn’t mean collective blame for his actions.

Many Syrians speak of omnipresent fear under Assad, often citing the Arabic saying, “the walls have ears,” reflecting that speaking up even privately didn’t feel safe. They talk of hardships, injustices and brutality. Now, for example, many celebrate freedom from dreaded Assad-era checkpoints.

“They would harass us,” said Ahmed Saad Aldeen, who came to the Umayyad Mosque from the city of Homs. “You go out ... and you don’t know whether you’ll return home or not.”

He said more than a dozen cousins are missing; a search for them in prisons proved futile.

Mohammed Qudmani said even going to the mosque caused anxiety for some before, for fear of getting on security forces’ radar screen or being labeled a “terrorist.”

Now, Damascus streets are bedecked with the new three-starred flag, not long ago a symbol of Assad's opponents. It flutters from poles and is plastered to walls, sometimes with the words “God is great” handwritten on it.

One billboard declares this the “Ramadan of victory.” On a government building, the faces of former presidents Bashar and Hafez al-Assad are partly cut off from a painting; in their place, “Freedom” is scribbled in Arabic.

Haidar Haidar, who owns a sweets shop, said he was touched that new security force members gave him water and dates while he was out when a call to prayer signaled that those fasting can eat and drink.

“We never saw such things here,” he said, adding that he used to recite Quranic verses for protection before passing through Assad’s checkpoints.

He said his business was doing well this Ramadan and ingredients have become more available.

A boy buys sweets on the first day of Ramadan, the holy month for Muslims, in Damascus, Syria, Saturday March 1, 2025.(AP)

Still, challenges — economic, geopolitical and otherwise — abound.

Many dream of a new Syria, but exactly how that would look remains uncertain.

“The situation is foggy,” said Damascus resident Wassim Bassimah. “Of course, there’s great joy that we’ve gotten rid of the cancer we had, but there’s also a lot of wariness.”

Syrians, he added, must be mindful to protect their country from sliding back into civil war and should maintain a dialogue that is inclusive of all.

“The external enemies are still there,” he said. “So are the enemies from within.”

The war’s scars are inescapable.

Just outside of Damascus, death and destruction are seared into some landscapes littered with pockmarked and ruined structures. Many Syrians grieve the missing and killed; many families have been divided by the exodus of millions as refugees.

Ramadan typically sees festive gatherings with loved ones to break the daily fast. Some Syrians huddle around food and juices at restaurants or throng to Ramadan tents to break their fast and smoke waterpipes as they listen to songs.

But this month’s violence in Syria’s coastal region has stoked fears among some.

The bloodshed began after reports of attacks by Assad loyalists on government security forces. Human rights and monitoring groups reported revenge killings in the counteroffensive, which they said saw the involvement of multiple groups. According to them, hundreds of civilians, or more, were killed; figures couldn't be independently confirmed. The Syrian Observatory for Human Rights said most of the killed civilians were Alawites in addition to a number of armed Alawites and security forces. Syrian authorities have formed a committee tasked with investigating the violence.

Even before the bloodshed, while many celebrated the new government, others questioned what the ascent of the former opposition forces would mean for freedoms, including of minorities and of those in the majority who are secular-minded or adhere to less conservative interpretations of Islam. The new authorities have made assurances about pluralism.

Sheikh Adham al-Khatib, a representative of Twelver Shiites in Syria, said many from the Shiite minority felt scared after Assad’s ouster and some fled the country. Some later returned, encouraged by a relative calm and the new authorities’ reassurances, he said, but the recent violence and some “individual transgressions" have rekindled fears.