Amenemhat I - Order is Power (introduction to essay)
The Middle Kingdom was a very important and significant period in Ancient Egyptian history. It witnessed a complete rebirth in culture, especially in literature and has been hailed as a renaissance. The founder of the Middle Kingdom [1] was the Pharaoh King Amenemhat I [2,3], and his succession to the throne signalled an immense change and a beginning to a new era. Amenemhat I restored order, prosperity and stability to a newly united Upper and Lower Egypt, which has just ascended from the chaos and disorder of the First Intermediate Period. Amenemhat I’s reign was exemplified by such features of the centralization of government, the reorganization of the administrative system, co-regency with his son Senusret I [4], as well as the colonization and conquests in Nubia and Libya along with the construction of defensive eastern frontier border forts that prevented Asiatic incursions. Thus Amenemhat I’s reign can be broken into two elements; that of internal affairs and external affairs. Fundamentally Amenemhat I had a firmly established and stable base of power, which remained even after his assassination at the hands of a court conspiracy, with his son and successor being able to avert the attempted coup due to the firmly established order. Henri Amiel [5] once proposed that “Order is Power”. This statement can be readily and straightforwardly applied to Amenemhat I’s reign and his execution of power.
[1]Historians generally begin the Middle Kingdom with Amenemhat I’s 12th Dynasty, as it had more defined changes and is considered more sophisticated compared to the 11th Dynasty
[2]There are numerous variations to the name, such as Amenemhet I and the Greek Historian Manetho’s version Ammenemes I, however for the issue of consistency Amenemhat I shall be used
[3]Not of royal family line, and generally accepted as the same Amenemhat the vizier of the 11th Dynasty
[4]Evidence suggest that Senusret I did not become coregent until year 20 of Amenemhat I’s reign
[5]Henri Frederic Amiel, born 27/09/1821, died 11/05/1881, was a prominent Swiss philosopher, academic, poet and critic. He travelled widely and studied moral philosophy. An illustrious piece of work is Private Journal
8/23/2009
The Sun Never Sets
The sun was at its highest point in the sky, signalling the heat to intensify. Walking through the lightened hall with some haste, sweat dripping off his clean shaven face, with his tie loose, his belligerent anxiousness and exasperation grew as he neared the closed door. His lungs seemed to stop breathing, and compounded by resentment his mind was racing like a cheetah at full speed. His thoughts of the previous days came to. “How could they get independence? It is an outrage!” These thoughts were of the haughty mind of Mr Allen Berkshire, a Civil Servant of the British colony Tanganyika, East Africa. He was a Colonialist bureaucrat in other words, who was full of pomp and circumstance and great support of the Imperial British Empire, which was in its dying days in 1962.
Tanganyika had just received its independence and it was an extremely momentous occasion for everyone; everyone except the Colonialists. Africanisation is what it is called, and many are outraged and unamenable by its process. There was cheering and parades in the city streets; a wave of liberation swept the nation, women danced to the native percussion and children laughed and applauded. The White Colonialists however did not share such as joyous response, much like Mr Berkshire.
He had reached the door, which stated in capital letters ‘Governor Sir Cecile Raimsby’. Mr Berkshire’s legs were desperately aching and his head was incensed and dazed, due to the extreme heat and the current happenings. He knocked on the solid wooden door. “Enter.” A strapping raspy voice came from inside the room. As the voice requested, Mr Berkshire opened the door. “Good afternoon Allen my good fellow, well not a good noon for us by any means really is it. How have you been?” Stated a man watering a fern.
“Hello Governor. Indeed not good at all, aside from that I am well thank you. May I ask, what happens now, now that the Empire has no power here?”
“Well I am afraid we have no more business here Allen. We have been instructed by the Foreign Office to fly back to London. A telegram stated all Administrative staff are to remove all personal items, dispose of all nonessential items and turn their housing and transportation arrangements to their new Native replacements. Damned bad affairs, what?”
“What! How can this happen Sir? I lose my house and car, and am expected to travel all the way back to London. Is this the appreciation we get for brining civilisation to Africa?” The British Colonialist led a very privileged life in the Empire, with villas, swimming pools, cars, and servants being supplied by the colony. The Native of the colony however led a very terrible life, and was always at the bottom of the social structure of his own country.
“Yes Allen. It is terrible. I have had my secretary call you a taxi to take you to the airport. And do remember to clear your office out please.”
“Thank you Sir”, Mr Berkshire replied in a hesitant voice.
“You have been a very good staffer Allen, a very good Civil Servant for Her Majesty, and it has been good to work with you. Take care.”
“Thank you very much Sir Raimsby, you too take care.” Mr Berkshire walked out the doorway and passed a young white secretary, who appeared to be smiling as she put photo frames in a wooden box. The sun was very bright shining through the elderly windows and remnants of the past government lay scarred on the floor.
“The end of the Empire Mr Berkshire.” She said, as Mr Berkshire passed. He did not take any notice at all, but did his tie up and stood up straight and portrayed the traditional English stiff upper lip and went to his office to pack his own possessions and luggage in his overwrought mode.
As the cantankerous Mr Berkshire exited the Governor’s Building he was welcomed once again with a swarming aridity, which was in such disparity to his cold, drab and perpetually overcast Manchester weather. As he stood on the sandy bleached cobblestone street corner, he smoothed his dark brown hair, took a deep breath and grabbed a lolly from his right trouser pocket, and proceeded to put it in his mouth. Suddenly a roundish car covered in orange paint, which was peeling off in spots, stopped in front of him. A haze of malodorous smog also stopped in front of him, and a poorly written clump of letters saying ‘Tanganyika Taxi Service’ indicated it was his transport. This was further established by the driver’s friendly hand gestures to hop in. “Are you not going to get the door for me Mister?”
“Who, me Sir?” Was the response in a mixed native and English accent which perpetrated from the smiling black face.
“Yes, you are the driver, and in a civilised world the driver opens the door. Yes?”
“Oh, of course. I am sorry Sir.” The driver said in a malleable voice as he got out of the taxi. He went over to the passenger side door, put his right hand on the handle and opened the door, which squeaked loudly as the rusted metal moved roughly. Mr Berkshire got in the taxi and the driver followed by closing the corroded and whiny orange door and then also entered. Inside was confined and there was no real leg room with the dusty and stained cotton seats offering not much more comfort. “Tanganyika International Airport Sir?”
“Of course driver.” Replied the uncomfortable and moist Mr Berkshire. The taxi’s engine sprang back into life once again corresponding with the turn of the key in the ignition, and the vehicle started to move along the dusty and near melting patchy asphalted road.
“Oh please call me Karume. I am Karume Baako, pleasure to meet you Sir. What is your name may I ask?”
“Well if you must know, I am Mr Berkshire.”
“How good is today, hey Mr Berkshire? We are now free!” Karume’s face lit up with cheerfulness.
“Good? Good?” He yelled. “It is not good at all! We brought you civilisation, and what do you do, you become independent from our great empire. How dare you and your people! You natives were uncivilized and stupid, we came and colonized you and made you respectable and educated. Now you have lost our great power and will once again become uncivilized due to your autonomy. I have lost my job, my car, my house and most of my money due to you selfishness for want of independence. You… you bastards!” Mr Berkshire hit the roof with his left knuckle, which was only a few inches from his head, and closed his eyelids. His forehead was covered by an army of small sweat droplets, which glistened feverously in the sun’s deep glaze.
“Really. Are you so arrogant Sir? You came with gun and flag and take over our land. You ignore our tribal dances and give us cricket. That is awful. You pillage our villages and mine our earth. You oppress us and force us into ghettos. You treat us like an inferior people, you ostracise us from our own county. Greed and oppression all in the name of the imperial Empire, pah!”
Bang! An abrupt mechanical noise sounded out from the engine. Bang! Bang! And with that, the taxi came to a halt on the hot asphalt road. “Oh dear! I do believe we have broken down Mr Berkshire.” Karume said in an unruffled and somewhat apologetic tone.
“Christ!” Mr Berkshire screamed. This was just another event to add to his mounting irritation. Steam started to pour out of the bonnet, and a hissing noise followed in unison. “Where are we driver?”
“I believe we are just south of the airport. We are in a Black district, a slum, one which your imperial government enforced on us.” Karume said. “May I suggest Mr Berkshire, that you have a look. Have a look at what your glorious imperial empire has done.”
“What?”
“Over there. Just walk through this area, and take a look.”
With that Mr Berkshire sauntered away from the broken down orange taxi, and down a back alley way. When one enters the slums, one is rapidly and forcefully slammed in the face by the senses, of sight and smell. Completely opposite to the gilded and artificial White neighbourhoods of the rich areas of the city, the mix of poverty ravaged wretched little houses and traditional clay huts, amount to the slums. The stench rotten fruit, burnt oil and urine fill the air, and wild dogs meander through the rubbish lined streets. Insects of all kind dance around eagerly in the airless environment; there is no electricity, and no easily accessible water. A White man in a back alley was a sensation and spectacle in its self. A taciturn attentive gaze from unemployed men sitting idly in front of derelict houses, their following with eyes dart like in the late sun’s gaze.
A group of young native children aggressively curious, crowded around him as he stood weak, with nothing to say, unable to say anything. He was appalled! In front of him were children, stick figures; their rib bones protruded their dirty, unwashed skin. The children stared with a sense of detestation. “Look, it’s a white man, the man who took over my country, hit my grandfather, killed my brother, raped my mother and left us drowning in poverty. Mr Berkshire felt sorrow and guilt. The children in front of him, staring wildly, were morally superior to him. He put his hand in his trouser pocket, and with an open palm he offered a lolly to them meagre youth.
Wandering around feeling as if he was falling from earth, yet his feet on the hard gravel strewn on the dusty paths re-established his place in reality. The sights he could see in front of him were real. The victims of imperialism, the consequences of greed. With every step he lost confidence, yet with every step he gained insight. An insight into a terrible world of poverty.
“Is this the ‘civilisation’ you talk about Sir, is this it?” Karume said as he appeared from a shadow. “Hunger, poverty, disease. Children who go hungry every night, children who are unable to read or write their own names. Who is responsible for this, I ask you. Now that we are free, we can have a government for the people, by the people. Our independence.”
“It is horrific! I have never seen anything like this. I can’t believe it.” Mr Berkshire yelled in immense shock and horror. “I am so, so sorry! For the good of the empire, it is a disgrace. It’s appalling!”
Mr Berkshire had now come to the realisation that Empire building is a horrible thing. Also it started to dawn on this middle aged Englishmen that the sun would set on the British Empire.
Tanganyika had just received its independence and it was an extremely momentous occasion for everyone; everyone except the Colonialists. Africanisation is what it is called, and many are outraged and unamenable by its process. There was cheering and parades in the city streets; a wave of liberation swept the nation, women danced to the native percussion and children laughed and applauded. The White Colonialists however did not share such as joyous response, much like Mr Berkshire.
He had reached the door, which stated in capital letters ‘Governor Sir Cecile Raimsby’. Mr Berkshire’s legs were desperately aching and his head was incensed and dazed, due to the extreme heat and the current happenings. He knocked on the solid wooden door. “Enter.” A strapping raspy voice came from inside the room. As the voice requested, Mr Berkshire opened the door. “Good afternoon Allen my good fellow, well not a good noon for us by any means really is it. How have you been?” Stated a man watering a fern.
“Hello Governor. Indeed not good at all, aside from that I am well thank you. May I ask, what happens now, now that the Empire has no power here?”
“Well I am afraid we have no more business here Allen. We have been instructed by the Foreign Office to fly back to London. A telegram stated all Administrative staff are to remove all personal items, dispose of all nonessential items and turn their housing and transportation arrangements to their new Native replacements. Damned bad affairs, what?”
“What! How can this happen Sir? I lose my house and car, and am expected to travel all the way back to London. Is this the appreciation we get for brining civilisation to Africa?” The British Colonialist led a very privileged life in the Empire, with villas, swimming pools, cars, and servants being supplied by the colony. The Native of the colony however led a very terrible life, and was always at the bottom of the social structure of his own country.
“Yes Allen. It is terrible. I have had my secretary call you a taxi to take you to the airport. And do remember to clear your office out please.”
“Thank you Sir”, Mr Berkshire replied in a hesitant voice.
“You have been a very good staffer Allen, a very good Civil Servant for Her Majesty, and it has been good to work with you. Take care.”
“Thank you very much Sir Raimsby, you too take care.” Mr Berkshire walked out the doorway and passed a young white secretary, who appeared to be smiling as she put photo frames in a wooden box. The sun was very bright shining through the elderly windows and remnants of the past government lay scarred on the floor.
“The end of the Empire Mr Berkshire.” She said, as Mr Berkshire passed. He did not take any notice at all, but did his tie up and stood up straight and portrayed the traditional English stiff upper lip and went to his office to pack his own possessions and luggage in his overwrought mode.
As the cantankerous Mr Berkshire exited the Governor’s Building he was welcomed once again with a swarming aridity, which was in such disparity to his cold, drab and perpetually overcast Manchester weather. As he stood on the sandy bleached cobblestone street corner, he smoothed his dark brown hair, took a deep breath and grabbed a lolly from his right trouser pocket, and proceeded to put it in his mouth. Suddenly a roundish car covered in orange paint, which was peeling off in spots, stopped in front of him. A haze of malodorous smog also stopped in front of him, and a poorly written clump of letters saying ‘Tanganyika Taxi Service’ indicated it was his transport. This was further established by the driver’s friendly hand gestures to hop in. “Are you not going to get the door for me Mister?”
“Who, me Sir?” Was the response in a mixed native and English accent which perpetrated from the smiling black face.
“Yes, you are the driver, and in a civilised world the driver opens the door. Yes?”
“Oh, of course. I am sorry Sir.” The driver said in a malleable voice as he got out of the taxi. He went over to the passenger side door, put his right hand on the handle and opened the door, which squeaked loudly as the rusted metal moved roughly. Mr Berkshire got in the taxi and the driver followed by closing the corroded and whiny orange door and then also entered. Inside was confined and there was no real leg room with the dusty and stained cotton seats offering not much more comfort. “Tanganyika International Airport Sir?”
“Of course driver.” Replied the uncomfortable and moist Mr Berkshire. The taxi’s engine sprang back into life once again corresponding with the turn of the key in the ignition, and the vehicle started to move along the dusty and near melting patchy asphalted road.
“Oh please call me Karume. I am Karume Baako, pleasure to meet you Sir. What is your name may I ask?”
“Well if you must know, I am Mr Berkshire.”
“How good is today, hey Mr Berkshire? We are now free!” Karume’s face lit up with cheerfulness.
“Good? Good?” He yelled. “It is not good at all! We brought you civilisation, and what do you do, you become independent from our great empire. How dare you and your people! You natives were uncivilized and stupid, we came and colonized you and made you respectable and educated. Now you have lost our great power and will once again become uncivilized due to your autonomy. I have lost my job, my car, my house and most of my money due to you selfishness for want of independence. You… you bastards!” Mr Berkshire hit the roof with his left knuckle, which was only a few inches from his head, and closed his eyelids. His forehead was covered by an army of small sweat droplets, which glistened feverously in the sun’s deep glaze.
“Really. Are you so arrogant Sir? You came with gun and flag and take over our land. You ignore our tribal dances and give us cricket. That is awful. You pillage our villages and mine our earth. You oppress us and force us into ghettos. You treat us like an inferior people, you ostracise us from our own county. Greed and oppression all in the name of the imperial Empire, pah!”
Bang! An abrupt mechanical noise sounded out from the engine. Bang! Bang! And with that, the taxi came to a halt on the hot asphalt road. “Oh dear! I do believe we have broken down Mr Berkshire.” Karume said in an unruffled and somewhat apologetic tone.
“Christ!” Mr Berkshire screamed. This was just another event to add to his mounting irritation. Steam started to pour out of the bonnet, and a hissing noise followed in unison. “Where are we driver?”
“I believe we are just south of the airport. We are in a Black district, a slum, one which your imperial government enforced on us.” Karume said. “May I suggest Mr Berkshire, that you have a look. Have a look at what your glorious imperial empire has done.”
“What?”
“Over there. Just walk through this area, and take a look.”
With that Mr Berkshire sauntered away from the broken down orange taxi, and down a back alley way. When one enters the slums, one is rapidly and forcefully slammed in the face by the senses, of sight and smell. Completely opposite to the gilded and artificial White neighbourhoods of the rich areas of the city, the mix of poverty ravaged wretched little houses and traditional clay huts, amount to the slums. The stench rotten fruit, burnt oil and urine fill the air, and wild dogs meander through the rubbish lined streets. Insects of all kind dance around eagerly in the airless environment; there is no electricity, and no easily accessible water. A White man in a back alley was a sensation and spectacle in its self. A taciturn attentive gaze from unemployed men sitting idly in front of derelict houses, their following with eyes dart like in the late sun’s gaze.
A group of young native children aggressively curious, crowded around him as he stood weak, with nothing to say, unable to say anything. He was appalled! In front of him were children, stick figures; their rib bones protruded their dirty, unwashed skin. The children stared with a sense of detestation. “Look, it’s a white man, the man who took over my country, hit my grandfather, killed my brother, raped my mother and left us drowning in poverty. Mr Berkshire felt sorrow and guilt. The children in front of him, staring wildly, were morally superior to him. He put his hand in his trouser pocket, and with an open palm he offered a lolly to them meagre youth.
Wandering around feeling as if he was falling from earth, yet his feet on the hard gravel strewn on the dusty paths re-established his place in reality. The sights he could see in front of him were real. The victims of imperialism, the consequences of greed. With every step he lost confidence, yet with every step he gained insight. An insight into a terrible world of poverty.
“Is this the ‘civilisation’ you talk about Sir, is this it?” Karume said as he appeared from a shadow. “Hunger, poverty, disease. Children who go hungry every night, children who are unable to read or write their own names. Who is responsible for this, I ask you. Now that we are free, we can have a government for the people, by the people. Our independence.”
“It is horrific! I have never seen anything like this. I can’t believe it.” Mr Berkshire yelled in immense shock and horror. “I am so, so sorry! For the good of the empire, it is a disgrace. It’s appalling!”
Mr Berkshire had now come to the realisation that Empire building is a horrible thing. Also it started to dawn on this middle aged Englishmen that the sun would set on the British Empire.
8/17/2009
in movement
The wind blows like a heavy, deep whisper
Obliging when sighing times come and go
These taken away by this wary blustery whimper
With more the atmosphere will rise up below
In the near distance a wind is carried
Covering a lack of heightened discretion
And over a whining whim which harried
Making suggestions that long for lessen
Obliging when sighing times come and go
These taken away by this wary blustery whimper
With more the atmosphere will rise up below
In the near distance a wind is carried
Covering a lack of heightened discretion
And over a whining whim which harried
Making suggestions that long for lessen
8/16/2009
Animals great and small
Consider the size of an elephant's ties
And peacocks with spectacles to help their eyes
Or the pants of ant and a scarf of a giraffe
Perchance would it make you laugh?
An ostrich in boots to keep quite dry
And a worm on stilts to remain up high
A whale in suit tails going to a wedding
And a mother bird buying some bedding
All the animals of size great and small
Going shopping for material in a mall
Bags full of everything a fox could need
And families of fish going for a feed
A cow drinking water and a sheep in leather
And a crocodile donned head to toe in feather
Animals from all over the lands and sea
Having a nice and peaceful spot of tea
And peacocks with spectacles to help their eyes
Or the pants of ant and a scarf of a giraffe
Perchance would it make you laugh?
An ostrich in boots to keep quite dry
And a worm on stilts to remain up high
A whale in suit tails going to a wedding
And a mother bird buying some bedding
All the animals of size great and small
Going shopping for material in a mall
Bags full of everything a fox could need
And families of fish going for a feed
A cow drinking water and a sheep in leather
And a crocodile donned head to toe in feather
Animals from all over the lands and sea
Having a nice and peaceful spot of tea
Change
He slumps as he rests his slack hands on the wheel
And looks through his expensive car’s windscreen
Outside the shopfronts forlorn, an elderly male starving at a kneel
And so he wept at the desolate, sad scene
Only material and possession to hold
And objects for the system of bought and sold
The assets of life accumulated by amount
That we only want what we can count
At the sight of wealth and gluttony
The towers blow off colour storm for monetary
As capital and currency only matter
And money and luxury comes not latter
The streets are of the homeless and poor
And the rich walk through mansion doors
No fair or equal trade, only open for gain
Yet still hungry and angry masses remain
These destitute masses ask the system
Asking desolately if it will ever listen
Marching and saying change is at need
To counter the public anguished seed
And so he drove away with a new resolution, seeing different out his clean screen
Something to keep hold, something that could not be enumerated
A strong sense of desire to change it after what he had just seen
A new feeling manifested inside, a thought that it was not too late
And looks through his expensive car’s windscreen
Outside the shopfronts forlorn, an elderly male starving at a kneel
And so he wept at the desolate, sad scene
Only material and possession to hold
And objects for the system of bought and sold
The assets of life accumulated by amount
That we only want what we can count
At the sight of wealth and gluttony
The towers blow off colour storm for monetary
As capital and currency only matter
And money and luxury comes not latter
The streets are of the homeless and poor
And the rich walk through mansion doors
No fair or equal trade, only open for gain
Yet still hungry and angry masses remain
These destitute masses ask the system
Asking desolately if it will ever listen
Marching and saying change is at need
To counter the public anguished seed
And so he drove away with a new resolution, seeing different out his clean screen
Something to keep hold, something that could not be enumerated
A strong sense of desire to change it after what he had just seen
A new feeling manifested inside, a thought that it was not too late
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