Ruminations from Hurghada: Environment, Climate and Development in Egypt

Recently I was in Hurghada. Maybe not a name that immediately strikes a light in one’s head but still quite a significant place on the Egyptian Red Sea, not far south from the more famous Sharm El Sheikh. The UN Development Programme (UNDP) had agreed with the Egyptian government to organize the 6^th National Evaluation Capacities conference there.

Upon arrival, the participants found themselves in an all-inclusive resort surrounded by thousands of half-naked German, Russian, British and other tourists indulging in numerous different pools, water games and, less so interestingly, the beautiful sandy beach lining the sea. And of course, the watering holes in this dry seashore where numerous. We found ourselves navigating towards the massive conference center in our dark suits and ties in the heat that in the daytime exceeded 30 degrees Celsius past the inquisitive looks of the sunbathers.

Egypt is one of the world's most vulnerable countries to climate change. Its lifeline is the Nile river that gets its start from two branches beyond the national territory: the White Nile at Lake Victoria in Uganda and the Blue Nile in the highlands of Ethiopia. Merging around Khartoum, the capital city of Sudan and Egypt’s southern neighbor, the river flows into the country that was the birthplace of an ancient civilization that predated that of Rome and Greece. Already that civilization, 5,000 years ago, was dependent on the Nile for enabling food production.

Still today, most of Egypt’s almost 100 million people live along the banks of the Nile. Cairo, the chaotic and fabulous capital city of 9.5 million, lies in the northern parts of the country where the fertile river delta begins to fan out. Cairo is defined by the existence of the river that cuts through it. The famous pyramids of Giza are located just outside of the city where the Saharan sand dunes overtook them already a long time ago.

Decades ago, as a young researcher and evaluator, I well remember driving north – downstream, as the Nile somewhat counterintuitively drains into the Mediterranean – in a Peugeot with some much more experienced experts whom I was lucky to have joined on a joint FAO-IFAD mission to define priorities for new investment projects in the Nile delta. The road was straight but rather narrow and the traffic already then was heavy, which did nothing to make me less uneasy shaking at the back of the car in the African heat. We stopped by the Suez Canal, for some refreshments on our way to Port Said on the Mediterranean coast. I remember vividly seeing the tops of great vessels passing through the canal like ghost ships in the desert.

Our goal was to investigate the environmental status of the coastal lagoons – Lake Burullus and Lake Manzala in particular – in the widening delta of the world’s longest river. Conflict had arisen among fishermen and fish farmers in these parts due to overexploitation of the resources and our task was to figure out initiatives that could help the fisheries and lessen the tensions.

The year was 1986 and climate change was still far down the list of worries of those of us concerned with sustainable use of natural resources, including freshwater. We bunked up in the coastal city of Alexandria and soon walked down to the Mediterranean shore. Our senior team members with the linguistic and bargaining abilities strolled to the fishermen pulling in their nets and secured us a delicious meal of freshly caught shrimp that was cooked right there on the beach.

More than two decades later, I was lucky enough to visit Alexandria again and actually spend time in the fabulous reincarnation of its legendary library, the original version of which was destroyed during the Roman period. I was stunned to see how the city had grown, an almost interminable string along the Mediterranean coast. For it was virtually impossible to expand inland in a more concentric manner: the lagoons prevented it as did the soon encroaching Sahara. In Alexandria, I read Naguib Mahfouz’s lovely and melancholy novel Miramar and imagined how the city must have been in the 1960s: a beautiful and cosmopolitan city, distinctly part of the Mediterranean cultural sphere, where cafés dotted the waterfront. It was still lovely, but had grown with too little planning, with traffic on the coastal boulevard threatening pedestrian life both with its speed and its pollution.

Meanwhile in Hurghada by the other sea, a traditional fishing village was being developed with an intrusion of foreign money. In a couple of decades it grew from a small sleepy settlement into a conglomeration of resorts to cater to wealthy Europeans who wanted to explore the fabulous corals of the Red Sea (or just turn coral red themselves from the sun and booze at the resorts). I’ve been to such resorts in the Caribbean and the only thing different in Hurghada was the accent of the people working there and the fact that their first instinct was to address you in German rather than English.

The Red Sea corals suffer equally from multiple threats: sewage from the tourist industry, the massive onslaught by the visiting snorkelers and divers who can’t keep their hands and feet away from them, as well as the global problems of climate change and ocean acidification. Surprisingly, it has been found that the corals in the northern parts of the Red Sea appear to be rather resilient to climate change, but those in the south are barely surviving at their maximum temperature tolerance.

At the conference that focused on how evaluation can contribute to the achievement of the 2030 Sustainable Development Agenda with its stated goal of “leaving no one behind,” my plea to the participants who included high government officials from Egypt (including a Deputy Minister) and from numerous other countries in the South and the North, as well as staff from UN organizations, civil society, private sector and academia, was that “sustainable development” as it is proclaimed rests on the foundations of the natural environment. If there is someone or something that should not be left behind, it is the natural environment with all its wonders.

Today, climate change combined with population growth that continues at an annual rate of 1.9% is posing tremendous challenges to Egypt, as it is to many countries in arid North Africa and the Middle East. The scarce water resources of the country – 85% of freshwater in Egypt is supplied by the Nile – are overused and abused by urban, agricultural and industrial development (another threat is posed by the upstream countries that need the water to develop their own economies, thus potentially leading to conflict: as I write this, Ethiopia is building a massive dam on the Blue Nile). The unique biological diversity along the Nile is also on the verge of extinction, just like the coral reefs in the southern parts of Red Sea.

A country that has invested so much in its role as a political, economic, cultural and touristic hub in the region, is seeing its natural and cultural assets erode. And it is facing a problem of burgeoning numbers of young people with little hope for advancement despite better education This latter issue, of course, is a major contributor to discontent, social upheaval, rise of Islamism and all the issues that these bring along.

Alexandria, the seaside center up north with a population of more than 5 million, the port where not only fish, but also cosmopolitan ideas and cultural tolerance have landed for millennia, is slowly taken over by the Mediterranean. Sea-level rise has led to rapidly increasing and more frequent floods that severely disrupt life and cause massive amounts of economic loss. The rising Mediterranean also leads to saltwater intrusions into the fertile delta that threaten both agriculture and freshwater resources.

The country that contributes less than 1% of the global greenhouse gas emissions is feeling the brunt of the impacts. As always, when the going gets rough, it’s the poor people that suffer the most.

The good news is that the Government of Egypt appears quite aware of what these challenges mean to the continued economic and social development of the country. The government has attempted to integrate its national strategy for climate change adaptation into its National Development Plan. A number of initiatives related to energy, water, agriculture, coastal zone management and other factors to enhance sustainability and resilience are underway. For the sake of the ancient country and the whole world, we need to hope that these succeed in time.

Sources

Altzitser, Sonia (2019). Red Sea Corals may be Resilient to Climate Change. The Maritime Executive [https://www.maritime-executive.com/editorials/red-sea-corals-may-be-resilient-to-climate-change]

Conniff, Richard (2017). The Vanishing Nile: A Great River Faces a Multitude of Threats. Yale Environment 360 [https://e360.yale.edu/features/vanishing-nile-a-great-river-faces-a-multitude-of-threats-egypt-dam]

Eissa, Hesham (n.d.). Egyptian Development & Climate Change. Presentation to the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change (UNFCCC) [https://unfccc.int/files/adaptation/application/pdf/nwa_1.2_development_planning_and_climate_change_in_egypt.pdf]

Fine, M., Cinar, M., Voolstra, C.R., Safa, A., Rinkevich, B, Leffoley, D., Hilmi, N. and Allemand, D. (2019). Coral reefs of the Red Sea – Challenges and potential solutions. Regional Studies in Marine Science 25: 100498.

Khalil, Maha T. (2019). Egypt’s Lukewarm Response to Climate Change. Worldcrunch [https://www.worldcrunch.com/tech-science/egypt39s-lukewarm-response-to-climate-change]

UNEP (2018). How Climate Change and Population Growth Threaten Egypt’s Ancient Tresures. United Nations Environment Programme ;https://www.unenvironment.org/news-and-stories/story/how-climate-change-and-population-growth-threaten-egypts-ancient-treasures]

Night out on the Nile

The other night one of my old friends, Roland, took me out on the town in Cairo. We met at my hotel, the Conrad, where we enjoyed the ‘happy hour’—meaning two drinks for one, which still left each one of them outrageously pricey!—in Le Bar. We then crossed the Corniche el Nil, risking our lives dashing between the never-ending and fast-moving flow of cars along the Nile, and grabbed a taxi upstream. After a while in the disastrous traffic, the driver reached the crossing in the Garden City area where we were supposed to turn left to reach our destination, but armed guards blocked our way. Cars without a specific pass were not allowed beyond this point. We had to abandon the taxi and continue on foot into the quiet residential neighborhood. We passed the British embassy, which stood dark, fortified with serious barricades; then the American embassy—the biggest mission of the nation anywhere in the world—a veritable fortress from whence the good diplomats would hardly ever have to venture.

We turned right onto a yet another residential street. Egyptian soldiers dressed in camouflage fatigues were lounging around in the shadows, smoking. The streets reminded me vaguely of some of the residential neighborhoods in Rome, with small European cars parked haphazardly along—and sometimes on—the sidewalks. One of the soldiers pointed us to the right direction and finally Roland recognized the building where the Cairo Capitol Club was located. Downstairs, I was surprised to notice, was more than half-shabby. There were four elevators, only one of which would reach the exclusive 19th floor club. After a considerable wait, the elevator picked us up. The style of the building changed already in the small cabin, which was lined with fake bookshelves decorated with faux leather-bound volumes, which upon casual observation appeared quite real. Only a closer look revealed that none of them were actual books, but just their backs inscribed with the name of the club and some of its dignitaries. Classic western pop music was playing through the piping.

I followed in Roland’s footsteps as he walked in determinedly. As we entered the venerable club we found that we were the only people on the top floor overlooking the Nile. A beautiful young lady ran after us asking whether we actually were members. Roland explained honestly that, no, we were not, but that he’d been there on several occasions before. This explanation seemed to satisfy the maitre d' who returned to her counter while we positioned ourselves on some well-worn but comfortable leather sofas by the floor-to-ceiling windows and ordered rum and coke. It was fabulous to sit down with my old friend, who with his wife moved to Cairo just six weeks ago, and inhale the gorgeous view across one of the world’s mightiest rivers.

I had arrived in Cairo on the Friday before, on a flight that could be kindly described as less than satisfying. It had been a direct flight from New York on Egypt Air—in business class, no less. Still, it was so cramped that it would have made some of other airlines’ economy classes seem spacious. Next to me on the 10-hour flight sat a very pleasant Filippino-Canadian gentleman, on his way to a gorgeous holiday involving a cruise on the Nile and a lovely sojourn to the fabled Masai Mara game park in Kenya with his gentleman friend. He was delightful company but when he slept—that is, most of the night—it was impossible for me to get out of my claustrophobic little corner by the window. My claustrophobia was not eased by the fact that, true to Islamic ways, the good airline didn’t carry any alcohol that could have at least dulled the pain.

The taxi driver who took me to the Conrad from the airport assured me that the hotel was the “best in Cairo,” a veritable “7 stars!” It was neither, of course. But it was comfortable enough to allow me to rest well over the past few nights after the distressing flight.

I was on a business trip—a ‘mission’ as the UN calls them somewhat pretentiously—and was traveling with two companions. Fuat is an elderly (only as counted in chronological years) gentleman originally from Istanbul. Mouna has spent most of her life in places other than her native Yemen, including Beirut, Paris and New York. Both are extremely sophisticated, smart and—most importantly—fun people. In the first three nights in town we had gone out together to places, such as the Naguib Mahfouz Café (where the Nobel prize winning novelist apparently used to sit every night; on our night, though, everyone in the main dining room was a tourist), a wonderfully eclectic joint called Abu Seid (Fuat seemed to think it was a bit too funky for him), and the restaurant Le Tarbouche on a boat moored to the Nile banks (here the music played on an oud and a hand drum was perfect in both tone and atmosphere)—so tonight was a welcome opportunity to escape from my partners in crime, as much as I enjoy their company.

Roland and I have met each other in many countries—we counted Bangladesh, Germany, Austria, USA and Sri Lanka amongst them—since we left Rome where the both of us used to live two decades ago. Through all these years we’ve kept in touch, although sometimes long passages of time would take place between our meetings. Despite the time that has passed since our original encounters, we again realized that nothing has changed. We are still the same silly young men, with the same silly joys and silly concerns, as before. And why should this change? Cairo is still the same after a much longer history. Of course, its population has grown, the pollution increased, and some neighborhoods have thrived, while others have declined.

The view from the 19th floor was unparalleled. On the river, as every night, a colorful parade of boats entertaining guests for merriment was passing at frequent intervals. The traditional feluccas—the boats with white triangular sails that feature in so many Cairo postcards—seemed hardly existent. From the height we could only observe a couple of their darkened silhouettes silently gliding on the black surface. Have the commercialized motor boats truly replaced the quiet and clean sailing vessels that so defined this mighty river since thousands of years? Hopefully not fully replaced; but certainly overwhelmed them in number.

The talk of the town in Cairo for the several weeks before this had been the murder of the famed Lebanese songstress Suzanne Tamim in Dubai in late-July. The murderer—an off-duty Egyptian policeman—had been identified from security camera pictures as he cheated his entrance disguised as a maintenance man to the glamorous woman’s unit, only to slash her throat in quick succession with a large knife. What made this story unique was that it was soon determined that the killer was most likely doing his deed at the orders of the renowned Egyptian billionaire magnate, Hisham Talaat Moustafa, who had been the starlet’s former lover. It appeared that the man had become savagely jealous when the woman had wanted to end the affair and moved to Dubai to escape her pursuer. The man had not been able to tolerate the humiliation and had contracted the officer to kill her. This was not the most amazing part of the story, however. It was that, in the face of overwhelming forensic evidence, the Egyptian police actually decided to arrest the real estate developer in September. It was completely unheard of in Egypt that a powerful oligarch—and a personal friend of President Mubarak’s son (who himself may well be the next President Mubarak)—actually would (could!) be held accountable for anything that he did, even if it was outright murder. People were stunned. Many theories and rumors flew around wherever Egyptians gathered. One of the more believable ones was that, while the law was the same for everyone (and the death penalty applied to murderers as well as those who commissioned them), the tycoon had already been allowed to leave the country. He would be living somewhere else under an alias, while a substitute would be hanged and presented as proof that the law is the same for the rich and the poor.

We remained the only guests on the top floor of the club for the entire night. On the floor below, there was an engagement party with a bunch of rowdy and obviously affluent Egyptians. The music—ranging from Arabic dance music to the western pop of yesteryear (think Tom Jones)—penetrated upstairs. Raising his glass, Roland toasted to "the exclusive dinner with the inclusive music!” The food was indeed exquisite. The Mexican tomato soup (as opposed to the "fresh" tomato soup also on the menu) with chicken balls (they exist, you know) was absolutely delicious. My main course of salmon (probably flown in earlier in the day from Scotland or Norway—not by any means an environmentally recommendable practice) was one of the best I’ve ever had—and that’s a statement from a Nordic character who grew up on salmon! It was placed on a bed of lentils that was as subtle and tasty as—well—pulses can be. We washed it all down with a local Omar Khayyam white wine, which proved itself to be almost as poetic as the person who lent his name to the beverage.

Cairo never sleeps, says the slogan, but we decided it was time. Descending down in the old library-elevator, we again entered the quiet, well-guarded street. Passing by the concrete stoppers and ignoring the heavy weaponry nonchalantly pointed at us, we were back on the Corniche. An old Peugeot 504 taxi soon stopped at our beckoning. The driver initially protested that he wanted to go home quickly, but soon agreed to make a u-turn and take us to our respective homes. The driver sporting a thick moustache was in an exuberant mood. He asked us in broken English, why did we think he’d be so full of joy. When we couldn’t guess, he revealed that in only two days would his first son reach 7 years of age! This made him so happy that he was talking nonstop. Speeding through the Cairo thoroughfare at astonishing speed (which, in the absence of a working speedometer, was impossible to verify) while the driver was half the time turned towards the back seat declaring his friendship toward us made me wonder whether I’d be able to reach my own next birthday. When we stopped in front of my hotel, I shook the driver’s hand and wished his young son a happy birthday. Our brief encounters had been brotherly.