The Diary of Teremut Part 1 - The Glory of Egypt

My name is Teremut Mubarak, but I used to go by the name Terem. And yes, I am writing in English because I am sure that you or a colleague of yours speaks English. Hopefully my servants have followed my orders in placing these scrolls of papyrus into my tomb so that you may have my biography instead of stipulating about what my life was about.

I am not who you think I am. I am not King Tutankhamen, though all the hieroglyphs depict otherwise. The people of Egypt believed me to be their pharaoh because I looked just like the murdered Tutankhamen.

You may not believe this story. Most likely you are now thinking how a thief might have broken into this tomb before you and planted this letter to deceive you. There is no form of evidence that I can give you to persuade you to believe my story, but the knowledge that I posses is much more advanced than any thief would have, and possibly more so than your current technology.

To tell you the truth I was born in the year 2145 A.D. I do not know when you will be reading this, but I hope that it is not too far before the year of my birth. I hope that my being here in Egypt as pharaoh has changed the world for the better.

Let me answer a few questions that you probably have by explaining my life in both the 22nd century and also in the 18th dynasty of the pharaohs of Egypt.

Twenty-second Century

Like I said earlier, I am not sure as to when you will receive this so I do not know at which point your technology is. I will try to explain simply enough.

I was born in a place that we called Florida in what used to be the South Sector of America. My parents were Egyptian by blood who crossed the Atlantic Ocean as refugees after the Great World War of Fire. Egypt was destroyed by a stray nuclear missile, a powerful weapon that rains fire on a nation for months, shortly after my parents migration.

I was tenderly raised listening to stories of the glory days of Egypt. Of the great pharaohs of the old kingdom and of the pyramids of Giza. But there are two specific memories that I recall as if they happened only yesterday.

“The glory of Egypt fell.” my father once said.

“How? When, papa?” I was eager to know. I loved the stories of ancient Egypt and could not fathom the idea that such a great and powerful civilization could fall easily.

“There are many reasons, my son. But one that I lately studied is King Tut.”

“The boy who was pharaoh?”

“Yes. King Tutankhamen.” he paused and closed his delicate eyes. His face was stern. “His name should have stayed as Tutanhaten, in reverence to the true god Aten, my god, the sun from the sky.” He was angry. I couldn’t tell why.

“Hanif, why do you scare the poor child?” my mother scolded from behind the kitchen counter. I still remember the white walls and white boxes that we called appliances. The kitchen was always full of light, night and day.

“Don’t you understand, Hafsah?” he snapped and turned his glaring gaze at my mother. “If I can finish my project, then our son will be …”

“الكلام في المصري” she interrupted in Egyptian. A language that I didn’t understand at the time; I was only ten years old. Now I understand that she said, “Speak in Egyptian!”

“فهو الوحيد الذي يستطيع انقاذ مصر” my father responded, meaning; “Our son is the only one who can save Egypt. He must know what to do when the time comes. And it will.”

“This is your skewed view of what you think Egypt should be. It’s not for the better of the world, let alone for the good of our son.” She continued in Egyptian, her voice reaching a higher pitch than normal.

“Have you not forgotten your heritage, Hafsah? You are Egyptian!”

“I know who I am, and I know my place!” she pointed at herself, “You need to drop your childish dream and return to your place as provider of the family.”

“I am in my place, woman.” He stood up from his chair and started walking towards my mother. My father was angry enough to beat my mother. I didn’t cry though, because I was used to this. My parents had constant arguments throughout my childhood.

He stopped right in front of her, glaring down on her. She was firm for a moment.

“Please Hanif, don’t ensnare your own innocent son in your plot as you have me.” she looked down in submission, “I am with you, but don’t hurt our son.”

“Our son will be a hero in Egypt. Praised by thousands; no, by millions.” he took a deep breath, “This will change the course of history.”

“Just don’t hurt our son.”

“Dad, Mom. What’s wrong?” I usually tried to interrupt their fights.

“Teremut, all is well.” my father responded without lifting his gaze on my mother. He always had to remind her that he was in charge long after she had submitted to him. He was tempting her to say otherwise.

She said nothing. Instead she turned around to finish preparing dinner. I knew that father had gotten his way.

“I think it is time to tell you, my son, how important you are to Egypt.” He was speaking in English again.

“What?”

He walked around the counter and placed his right hand on my shoulder. Something I later realized that was a loving gesture.

“King Tutankhamen was in a position to continue Akhenaten’s empire. He could have expanded Egypt. He could have brought back glory, just like in the Old Kingdom. But he didn’t.”

“What does this have to do with …”

“Listen.” His voice slipped back to being stern. I clamped my mouth shut. “Tutankhamen was controlled by the priest named Ay. Ay convinced Tutankhamen to forget everything that his father created, especially the more correct religion of one god.

“Belief in one god would have brought all of Egypt to a point of change. Tell me, son, was Egypt a large empire?”

He was teaching me again. Our conversations always seemed to turn into lectures of some kind.

“Um. Not as large as other empires like Greece, Rome, or even China.”

“Right. But was Egypt as powerful as the other empires?”

He was looking for an answer. The fun guess-what’s-in-my-head game.

“Egypt was very powerful, father.”

“More so than Greece, Rome, and China.” he leaned down to bring his gaze to my eye-level. “My son, know this. Egypt  would have been more powerful and much larger than the famous United States of America.”

I nodded. I believed him. I still do.

“Remember this, my son.” he placed his right hand over my heart. “Promise me you’ll remember.”

I placed my right hand on top of his. “I promise, father.”

“Egypt grew no more because of the priests.” he took a simple but strong breath. “The priests stopped Egypt. The priests stopped the strong pharaohs. Egypt became prisoner to the priests and their stagnant religion. Beware the priests, my son.”

“Yes, father.”

“It was the priests who manipulated the poor boy pharaoh, King Tutankhamen.” he took his hand off of my chest and turned to look out the window towards the red sunset. His voice trailed off slowly until it was a soft whisper. I had to strain to hear. “His father, Akhenaten, was the last powerful pharaoh who opposed the priests. He had ideas to make Egypt not only as good as the old Kingdom, but better.

“He brought Egypt to believe in one god,  Aten, my lord, my god, the sun from the sky.” he paused to gaze upwards, “He built a new capital city in honor of Aten, my god, the sun from the sky. Akhenaten was strong enough to contend with the priests. He brought change to Egypt.

“The priests have always hated change, and tried to keep it away from Egypt. But change is the only thing that would bring better technology to Egypt. Change is the only thing that would bring new science, new beliefs, more land, and more power.

“Change. Egypt was on the brink of change with Akhenaten, but his son was too weak to keep the change. Tutankhamen let the priests erase the change that could have given glory back to Egypt. The change that could have pleased Aten, my god, the sun from the sky. But instead he grew angry and caused Egypt to be controlled by other nations.”

He stopped. He mouthed only what I could read through his lips, “The glory of Egypt fell.” He was sad. My father always seemed to have a slight bipolar personality, or the sudden changing of emotion.

He kept staring at the sunset. I was sure that he was going to go blind one day due to the fact that he always gazed at the sun. It felt like three minutes waiting for my father continue. I knew the lecture was not over. He had yet to tell me why I was so important to Egypt.

Silence prevailed. Even my mother had stopped making dinner in the kitchen. My insides began to tremble. My left leg started to fidget again. My father was still.

“My son.” He finally broke the silence with a quiet whisper. “You will soon be able to help King Tutankhamen bring the glory that Egypt deserves.”

He turned around to look at me. Tears were in his eyes, but he was smiling. My mother stood in the kitchen entryway. She too was crying. I could tell she had cried about this before because her sobs were weak and controlled.

“My son, do you know why we have named you Teremut?”

I shook my head. I liked my name, but never had I thought there might have been a reason with my name.

“Teremut was a close friend of King Tutankhamen.” He paused as if debating whether or not to tell me something. He sighed, a sign that he has decided to tell me later. “You will soon be a closer friend to the boy King. That is your purpose, my son. This is the destiny of Egypt.”

A sparkle had entered his dark brown eyes. I felt a growing warmth encircle me from within my body. An excitement that I cannot describe with mere words. At that age I believed every word my father spoke, even though I had no idea as to how I would be a close friend to Tutankhamen. I believed my father. He was always so sincere.

“Me?” I pointed at myself. I could barely contain my excitement. I had waited for an opportunity to show the world my worth. I was tired of being the Egyptian nerd at school, or the “weird kid” or the good-for-nothing brown boy.

“Yes, Teremut. You are the destiny of Egypt.”