Tutankhamun: Egyptians Bid to Reclaim their History

The sarcophagus of boy pharaoh King Tutankhamun is on display in his newly renovated tomb in the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt January 31, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Abd El Ghany
The sarcophagus of boy pharaoh King Tutankhamun is on display in his newly renovated tomb in the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt January 31, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Abd El Ghany
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Tutankhamun: Egyptians Bid to Reclaim their History

The sarcophagus of boy pharaoh King Tutankhamun is on display in his newly renovated tomb in the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt January 31, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Abd El Ghany
The sarcophagus of boy pharaoh King Tutankhamun is on display in his newly renovated tomb in the Valley of the Kings in Luxor, Egypt January 31, 2019. REUTERS/Mohamed Abd El Ghany

It's one of the 20th century's most iconic photos: British archaeologist Howard Carter inspecting the sarcophagus of Tutankhamun in 1922 as an Egyptian member of his team crouches nearby shrouded in shadow.

It is also an apt metaphor for two centuries of Egyptology, flush with tales of brilliant foreign explorers uncovering the secrets of the Pharaohs, with Egyptians relegated to the background, AFP said.

"Egyptians have been written out of the historical narrative," leading archaeologist Monica Hanna told AFP.

Now with the 100th anniversary of Carter's earth-shattering discovery -- and the 200th of the deciphering of the Rosetta Stone which unlocked the ancient hieroglyphs -- they are demanding that their contributions be recognized.

Egyptians "did all the work" but "were forgotten", said chief excavator Abdel Hamid Daramalli, who was born "on top" of the tombs at Qurna near Luxor that he is now in charge of digging.

Even Egyptology's colonial-era birth -- set neatly at Frenchman Jean-François Champollion cracking the Rosetta Stone's code in 1822 -- "whitewashes history", according to specialist researcher Heba Abdel Gawad, "as if there were no attempts to understand Ancient Egypt until the Europeans came."

The "unnamed Egyptian" in the famous picture of Carter is "perhaps Hussein Abu Awad or Hussein Ahmed Said," according to art historian Christina Riggs, a Middle East specialist at Britain's Durham University.

The two men were the pillars, alongside Ahmed Gerigar and Gad Hassan, of Carter's digging team for nine seasons. But unlike foreign team members, experts cannot put names to the faces in the photos.

- 'Unnoticed and unnamed' -
"Egyptians remain unnoticed, unnamed, and virtually unseen in their history," Riggs insisted, arguing that Egyptology's "structural inequities" reverberate to this day.

But one Egyptian name did gain fame as the tomb's supposed accidental discoverer: Hussein Abdel Rasoul.

Despite not appearing in Carter's diaries and journals, the tale of the water boy is presented as "historical fact", said Riggs.

On November 4, 1922, a 12-year-old -– commonly believed to be Hussein -– found the top step down to the tomb, supposedly because he either tripped, his donkey stumbled or because his water jug washed away the sand.

The next day, Carter's team exposed the whole staircase and on November 26 he peered into a room filled with golden treasures through a small breach in the tomb door.

According to an oft-repeated story, a half-century of Hussein's ancestors, brothers Ahmed and Mohamed Abdel Rasoul, found the Deir el-Bahari cache of more than 50 mummies, including Ramesses the Great, when their goat fell down a crevasse.

But Hussein's great-nephew Sayed Abdel Rasoul laughed at the idea that a goat or boy with a water jug were behind the breakthroughs.

Riggs echoed his skepticism, arguing that on the rare occasions that Egyptology credits Egyptians with great discoveries they are disproportionately either children, tomb robbers or "quadrupeds".

The problem is that others "kept a record, we didn't", Abdel Rasoul told AFP.

- 'They were wronged' -
Local farmers who knew the contours of the land could "tell from the layers of sediment whether there was something there," said Egyptologist Abdel Gawad, adding that "archaeology is mostly about geography".

Profound knowledge and skill at excavating had been passed down for generations in Qurna -- where the Abdel Rasouls remain -- and at Qift, a small town north of Luxor where English archaeologist William Flinders Petrie first trained locals in the 1880s.

Mostafa Abdo Sadek, a chief excavator of the Saqqara tombs near Giza, whose discoveries have been celebrated in the Netflix documentary series "Secrets of the Saqqara Tomb", is a descendant of those diggers at Qift.

His family moved 600 kilometers (370 miles) north at the turn of the 20th century to excavate the vast necropolis south of the Giza pyramids.

But his grandfathers and great-uncles "were wronged", he declared, holding up their photos.

Their contributions to a century of discoveries at Saqqara have gone largely undocumented.

- 'Children of Tutankhamun' -
Barred for decades from even studying Egyptology while the French controlled the country's antiquities service, Egyptians "were always serving foreigners", archaeologist and former antiquities minister Zahi Hawass told AFP.

Another Egyptologist, Fatma Keshk, said we have to remember "the historical and social context of the time, with Egypt under British occupation."

The struggle over the country's cultural heritage became increasingly political in the early 20th century as Egyptians demanded their freedom.

"We are the children of Tutankhamun," the diva Mounira al-Mahdiyya sang in 1922, the year the boy pharaoh's intact tomb was found.

The same year Britain was forced to grant Egypt independence, and the hated partage system that gave foreign missions half the finds in exchange for funding excavations was ended.

But just as Egyptians' "sense of ownership" of their heritage grew, ancient Egypt was appropriated as "world civilization" with little to do with the modern country, argued Abdel Gawad.

"Unfortunately that world seems to be the West. It's their civilization, not ours."

While the contents of Tutankhamun's tomb stayed in Cairo, Egypt lost Carter's archives, which were considered his private property.

The records, key to academic research, were donated by his niece to the Griffith Institute for Egyptology at Britain's Oxford University.

"They were still colonizing us. They left the objects, but they took our ability to produce research," Hanna added.

This year, the institute and Oxford's Bodleian Library are staging an exhibition, "Tutankhamun: Excavating the Archive", which they say sheds light on the "often overlooked Egyptian members of the archaeological team."

- Excavators' village razed –
In Qurna, 73-year-old Ahmed Abdel Rady still remembers finding a mummy's head in a cavern of his family's mud-brick house that was built into a tomb.

His mother stored her onions and garlic in a red granite sarcophagus, but she burst into tears at the sight of the head, berating him that "this was a queen" who deserved respect.

For centuries, the people of Qurna lived among and excavated the ancient necropolis of Thebes, one of the pharaohs' former capitals that dates back to 3100 BC.

Today, Abdel Rady's village is no more than rubble between the tombs and temples, the twin Colossi of Memnon -- built nearly 3,400 years ago -- standing vigil over the living and the dead.

Four Qurnawis were shot dead in 1998 trying to stop the authorities bulldozing their homes in a relocation scheme.

Some 10,000 people were eventually moved when almost an entire hillside of mud-brick homes was demolished despite protests from UNESCO.

In the now deserted moonscape, Ragab Tolba, 55, one of the last remaining residents, told AFP how his relatives and neighbors were moved to "inadequate" homes "in the desert".

The Qurnawis' dogged resistance was fired by their deep connection to the place and their ancestors, said the Qurna-born excavator Daramalli.

But the controversial celebrity archaeologist Hawass, then head of Egypt's Supreme Council of Antiquities, said "it had to be done" to preserve the tombs.

Egyptologist Hanna, however, said the authorities were bent on turning Luxor into a sanitized "open-air museum... a Disneyfication of heritage", and used old tropes about the Qurnawis being tomb raiders against them.

Sayed Abdel Rasoul's nephew, Ahmed, hit back at what he called a double standard.

"The French and the English were all stealing," he told AFP.

"Who told the people of Qurna they could make money off of artefacts in the first place?"

- 'Spoils of war' –
Over the centuries, countless antiquities made their way out of Egypt.

Some, like the Luxor Obelisk in Paris and the Temple of Debod in Madrid, were gifts from the Egyptian government.

Others were lost to European museums through the colonial-era partage system.

But hundreds of thousands more were smuggled out of the country into "private collections all over the world," according to Abdel Gawad.

Former antiquities minister Hawass is now spearheading a crusade to repatriate three of the great "stolen" treasures -- the Rosetta Stone, the bust of queen Nefertiti and the Dendera Zodiac.

He told AFP he plans to file a petition in October demanding their return.

The Rosetta Stone has been housed in the British Museum since 1802, "handed over to the British as a diplomatic gift", the museum told AFP.

But for Abdel Gawad, "it's a spoil of war".

Nefertiti's 3,340-year-old bust went to Berlin's Neues Museum a century later through the partage system, but Hawass insisted it "was illegally taken, as I have proved time and again."

The Frenchman Sebastien Louis Saulnier meanwhile had the Dendera Zodiac blasted out of the Hathor Temple in Qena in 1820.

The celestial map has hung from a ceiling in the Louvre in Paris since 1922, with a plaster cast left in its place in the southern Egyptian temple.

"That's a crime the French committed in Egypt," Hanna said, behavior no longer "compatible with 21st century ethics."



There are no sudden countries.

Diriyah Biennale Foundation logo
Diriyah Biennale Foundation logo
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There are no sudden countries.

Diriyah Biennale Foundation logo
Diriyah Biennale Foundation logo

Donya Abdulhadi

Executive Director, Marketing, Communication and Strategic Partnerships

Diriyah Biennale Foundation

A slow-moving convoy is led through Wadi Hanifa towards the JAX District — a scene that merges heritage and natural landscape, pulsating with eager expression. Across the valley floor, vintage and new pickup trucks release their brakes and begin to slowly move after sunset, accompanied by camels and their handlers, clapping rhythmically, keeping movement paced and deliberate. The procession begins, as viewers watch in anticipation as it advances to where the Wadi ends and the district begins, culminating in its merging with hundreds of people in collective celebration, Saudi and non-Saudi communities alike, at the doors of the third edition of the Diriyah Contemporary Art Biennale.

This performative scene, led by Saudi artist 7amdan, in the heart of Diriyah, known as the birthplace of the Saudi state, is not only symbolic, but diagnostic. To understand Saudi Arabia today — its acceleration, its ambition and its demographic shifts — one must see it as continuation, rather than sudden rupture.

Yet, discourse about transformation in the Arab world often fixates on politics and economic output. Against this backdrop, what is frequently overlooked is the cultural practices that make nation-scale change sustainable. The seemingly “sudden” revival of old cities, the creation of new ones, the inward migration of talent, policy reforms and the announcements of investments have been the primary scenes driving international understandings of Saudi Arabia’s transformation. Yet, the opportunity to more accurately read this change as a part of a much larger, rhythmic “procession,” is laid bare.

The Diriyah Contemporary Art Biennale, conceived by the Diriyah Biennale Foundation, artistically directed by Nora Razian and Sabih Ahmed and titled In Interludes and Transitions, adopts procession as its opening metaphor. In Arab contexts, processions are often reduced to ritual display — pilgrims moving in unison, caravans crossing deserts, ceremonial marches through city streets. But procession has never been mere spectacle. It is infrastructure: the mechanism through which trade, belief, labor, and knowledge moved across terrain..

For centuries, the Arabian Peninsula has functioned as a corridor: between East Africa and South Asia, between the Mediterranean and the Indian Ocean, between desert interiors and maritime routes. Trade, pilgrimage, seasonal migration, and the circulation of stories formed moving networks long before oil supported economic growth. Procession was not only physical movement; it has been the layering of skills, dialects, value systems, commercial and cultural practices across generations.

That pattern continues today, if in intensified form.

Today, Saudi Arabia is growing into one of the most demographically dynamic countries in the region. Expatriates constitute a ‘minority’ of more than 13 million residents — over 30% of the population — according to the Saudi General Authority for Statistics. These are not marginal, cosmetic figures; they reflect not temporary labor influx but a structural condition in which cross-border movement is foundational to the Kingdom’s social and economic architecture.

But migration is at times framed as sudden, episodic, even opportunistic — as individuals arriving to capitalize on growth or regulatory reform — when a more accurate reading is coordinated movement at scale: capital, labor, and expertise advancing in waves.

Consider the economic transformation underway. Saudi Arabia’s Vision 2030 has committed hundreds of billions of dollars toward diversification — tourism, logistics, renewable energy, entertainment, advanced manufacturing. The non-oil sector now contributes more than 50% of Saudi GDP. Crossing this threshold marks not diversification in theory, but a measurable shift in the engine of national growth from extractive dependence to multi-sector productivity. These figures signal structural and collective reorientation rather than incremental reform.

Procession in this region has in fact always been collective. Trade caravans moved in formation; pilgrimages operated in waves; ports thrived because of overlapping routes. Contemporary economic development follows a similar logic of embeddedness: partnerships with local entities, alignment with national transformation agendas, and participation in sectors are not bureaucratic formalities, but the modern equivalent of traveling in convoy.

Procession carries memory and implies sequencing. The region’s openness to global capital is not cultural amnesia; it is consistent with centuries of exchange. Riyadh’s rapid urban transformation is layered atop older routes. Reforms are phased, sector-specific, and often geographically concentrated. Nation-scale projects like Diriyah operate as critical nodes in a larger movement of urban and economic reconfiguration, designed to continue to attract long-term talent and capital. The labor statistics reinforce this. The volume of movement reflects systemic reliance on cross-border mobility instead of temporary flux.

Procession also implies visibility. In a caravan, each participant is seen, and reputation travels quickly. Trust, responsibility and credible contribution to collective goals matter. The region’s economic model, while globally integrated, remains relational at its core.

Like all changes, transformation is not frictionless. Regulatory frameworks evolve. Processions can re-route. Those looking to understand its transformation must recognize that the route is dynamic. Short-term extraction strategies — arrive, profit, exit — misread the scale of transformation underway.

The Biennale’s invocation of interludes and transitions offers a useful corrective to simplistic growth narratives. Saudi Arabia is not simplistically in acceleration; it moves through phases: consolidation, experimentation, recalibration. Periods of pause, regulatory and fiscal review and project restructuring might appear as reversals, but are actually interludes that prepare for the next transition.

Transformation here is neither chaotic nor accidental, but sequenced. It advances in steps, sometimes rapid, sometimes measured, but rarely isolated. Those who understand the rhythm of that movement participate in its momentum.

Procession, then, is not poetic flourish. It is a practical framework of reading change. In Saudi Arabia today, transformation moves in procession. The question is not whether it is occurring, but how attentively one reads its cadence and moves within it.


Stranded Whale Frees Itself Again Off German Coast and Disappears

Seagulls fly above a humpback whale that managed to free itself overnight from a sandbank in shallow waters of Wismar Bay in the Baltic Sea, near Wismar, Germany March 31, 2026. REUTERS/Annegret Hilse
Seagulls fly above a humpback whale that managed to free itself overnight from a sandbank in shallow waters of Wismar Bay in the Baltic Sea, near Wismar, Germany March 31, 2026. REUTERS/Annegret Hilse
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Stranded Whale Frees Itself Again Off German Coast and Disappears

Seagulls fly above a humpback whale that managed to free itself overnight from a sandbank in shallow waters of Wismar Bay in the Baltic Sea, near Wismar, Germany March 31, 2026. REUTERS/Annegret Hilse
Seagulls fly above a humpback whale that managed to free itself overnight from a sandbank in shallow waters of Wismar Bay in the Baltic Sea, near Wismar, Germany March 31, 2026. REUTERS/Annegret Hilse

A humpback whale struggling in shallow waters off Germany's northern Baltic Sea coast has freed itself for a third time and has now disappeared, a police spokesman told AFP Tuesday.

"The whale seems to have left Wismar. However, there have been no sightings so far," the spokesman for the city's water police said.

The 13.5-meter (44-foot) long animal has been struggling in shallow waters in the area for more than a week, having first been spotted in the early hours of March 23 near the city of Luebeck.

It managed to free itself from a sandbank there but ran into further difficulty after swimming east.

It twice became stuck on sandbanks close to the city of Wismar and over the weekend experts warned that its breathing rate had reduced.

Nevertheless experts hope that the whale may be able to make it back to its natural habitat in the Atlantic Ocean.

Speaking on ZDF television on Monday, marine biologist and rescue coordinator Burkard Baschek said the lack of sightings was a good sign.

"We haven't received any further reports so far, which is good," he said, adding: "We can now only hope that it will eventually manage to make it under its own steam."

The whale is believed to be suffering from skin problems due to the lower level of salt content in the Baltic Sea compared to the open ocean.

It is possible the whale came into the Baltic following a shoal of fish or having been distracted by the noise of a submarine.


India to Begin World’s Biggest Population Count

Commuters walk on a platform after disembarking from a suburban train at a railway station in Mumbai, India, January 21, 2023. (Reuters)
Commuters walk on a platform after disembarking from a suburban train at a railway station in Mumbai, India, January 21, 2023. (Reuters)
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India to Begin World’s Biggest Population Count

Commuters walk on a platform after disembarking from a suburban train at a railway station in Mumbai, India, January 21, 2023. (Reuters)
Commuters walk on a platform after disembarking from a suburban train at a railway station in Mumbai, India, January 21, 2023. (Reuters)

India will launch the world's largest census on Wednesday, with more than three million officials to take part in a vast counting exercise over the next year.

The South Asian nation, home to an estimated 1.4 billion people, faces mounting challenges in providing electricity, food and housing to its growing population.

Many of its sprawling megacities are already grappling with water shortages, air and water pollution, and overcrowded slums.

India's government calls the $1.24 billion count a "gigantic exercise of national importance" that could support "inclusive governance and evidence-based policy formulation".

The enumeration will also include the politically sensitive issue of caste, the millennia-old social hierarchy that divides Hindus by function and social standing.

The upcoming census presents a formidable logistical challenge. India's 2024 general election, the largest democratic exercise in history, was conducted in seven phases over six weeks.

The census will be carried out in two phases.

The first phase, beginning Wednesday and running until September, will involve a staggered, month-long enumeration to record details of housing and amenities.

The process will combine door-to-door visits with an option for online self-enumeration, linking to an app drawing on satellite imagery and available in 16 languages.

A second phase will focus on population data including demographic, social and economic details as well as the more contentious question of caste.

Caste remains a powerful determinant of social status in India, shaping access to resources, education and opportunity.

A caste survey conducted in 2011 was never published, with authorities citing inconsistencies in the data.

The last time comprehensive caste data was collected as part of a census was in 1931, under British colonial rule.

Governments since resisted updating the data, citing administrative complexity and concerns over potential social tensions.

For most of the country, population enumeration will take place in the weeks leading up to the reference date of March 1, 2027.

In high-altitude Himalayan regions -- including the disputed territory of Jammu and Kashmir -- it will take place ahead of October 1, 2026, before snowfall begins.

India has not conducted a census since 2011, after the 2021 round was delayed by the Covid-19 pandemic.

According to the last census, India's population was 1.21 billion.

In 2023, the United Nations estimated that India had surpassed China to become the world's most populous country, with more than 1.42 billion people.