In Sudan at War, the Last Guardians of the Pyramids of Meroë

The Meroe site, which houses 140 pyramids dating back 2,400 years and listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, has been almost deserted since the outbreak of the war between the Sudanese army and the Rapid Support Forces in 2023 – once the most visited destination in Sudan, with up to 200 people per day.

Only three guardians – Moustafa Ahmed Moustafa, archaeologist Mahmoud Soliman, and young Mohamed Moubarak – now watch over this classified site, struggling against erosion and cracks in structures weakened by the destruction of the 19th century and two centuries of sand and rain.

The Kushite heritage had sparked a powerful resurgence of national identity during the 2018-2019 uprising against Omar al-Bashir – “My grandfather Taharqa, my grandmother Kandaka,” chanted the protesters – before being swept away in the chaos of the civil war.

By Bahira Amin and Abdelmoneim Abu Idris Ali – Report from Meroe, Sudan

Moustafa Ahmed Moustafa is the heir of a long line of guardians who have watched over the ancient pyramids of Meroe in Sudan. Today, after three years of war, he is one of the few sentinels protecting this heritage.

This funerary site, dating back 2,400 years, houses 140 pyramids built until the 4th century AD, during the Meroitic period of the Kingdom of Kush, at the crossroads of cultural exchanges with pharaonic Egypt, then Greece and Rome.

None are intact. Some are beheaded, others in ruins, dynamited in the 19th century by European treasure hunters, and eroded by two centuries of sand and rain.

Three hours’ drive from the capital Khartoum, it was once the most popular historical destination in Sudan. Today, in a country contested by the army and the paramilitaries of the Rapid Support Forces, only the grunt of a solitary camel breaks the silence.

“This might be the fourth time I’ve visited since the start of the war,” confesses archaeologist and site director Mahmoud Soliman to AFP journalists he guides at the site. He nostalgically recalls the pre-war days when “there were regular weekend visits from Khartoum, with entire buses, 200 people per day.” Alongside Mr. Moustafa and young archaeologist Mohamed Moubarak, they guard the site, doing their best to fight erosion.

“My grandmother Kandaka”

The Sudanese heritage had sparked renewed interest, explains Mr. Soliman, after the 2018-2019 uprising against autocrat Omar al-Bashir. “My grandfather Taharqa, my grandmother Kandaka,” was one of the slogans chanted by protesters. Taharqa was one of the last Kushite pharaohs, and the Kandakas were the queens and princesses of this kingdom with a matrilineal succession, a name taken to honor the women mobilized during the revolution.

The villagers from the nearby village of Tarabil – pyramids in Sudanese – who sold souvenirs and rented camels, “depended entirely on the site.”

Khaled Abdelrazek, 45, rushed as soon as he heard there were visitors. Crouching at the entrance, he shows AFP journalists handcrafted miniature sandstone pyramids and reminisces about the time when “we were selling dozens.” In the months leading up to the war, which broke out in the last days of Ramadan, there were also documentary teams, a music festival, and “big projects for just after Eid al-Fitr,” recalls Mr. Soliman. “Before, I felt like I was teaching people about their culture,” says Mr. Moubarak, who has been working on the site since 2018. “Today, everyone’s top priority is food, water, and shelter, but ‘we must protect all this for future generations, we cannot let this place be destroyed or degraded.'”

“Distant dream”

Near the entrance, the pyramids, in front of which a small temple stands, stand out against a landscape of black sandstone hills. The view is breathtaking, but Mr. Soliman sees only danger: is this crack new? Has this sand mound moved? Should the scaffolding at the entrance to this funerary chamber be redone before the rainy season? “If the pyramids had been left in their original state, we wouldn’t have all these problems,” believes Mr. Moubarak. The structures are smaller and steeper than their Egyptian neighbors, built to “resist sand and drain rainwater, but every crack poses problems.”

The largest pyramid, that of Amanishakheto, who reigned around the 1st century AD, is now just an enclosure where sand and dust swirl above the buried funerary chamber of the queen. On a wall of the still-standing entry temple, the queen is depicted standing, larger than life, a spear in hand, striking enemy captives. Other reliefs feature the lion-headed Apedemak deity, Egyptian motifs, including the gods Amon and Anubis, lotus flowers, and hieroglyphs.

“This place has so much potential,” he says. “It’s just a distant dream, but I would really like one day to be able to carry out a true restoration of these pyramids.”