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Welcome to Voices of Ancient Egypt, the podcast for people who don't just want to learn about ancient Egypt, but want to understand it on a deeper, more meaningful level. I'm Melinda Nelsonhurst, an Egyptologist with a PhD in the field and years of experience teaching at the university level, working in Egypt, and training students around the world to read real ancient Egyptian texts. I've spent decades studying this civilization in a traditional academic setting, so you don't have to. And so you can access knowledge that's usually locked behind academic walls. This podcast brings ancient Egyptian history, beliefs, and language to life, and shows you that learning hieroglyphs is possible no matter your age, background, or schedule. So whether you want to read hieroglyphs in museums, on social media, or on your next trip to Egypt, you'll find the tools, stories, and encouragement to make it real right here. Let's hear the voices of the ancient world together. It is Shepsi who addresses his mother, Ei. This is a reminder of the fact that you said to me, your son, quote, You shall bring me some quails that I may eat them. And I, your son, then brought you seven quails, and you ate them. Is it in your presence that I am being injured, so that my children are disgruntled, and I, your son, am ill? Who then will pour out water for you? This letter from a son to his deceased mother was written on the outside of a bowl that would have presumably held offerings for the mother, so that she would pay attention to the message on the bowl. And he's asking her for help with an illness he's been having and general problems also that his children are having. And I love how he reminds her of the time he brought her seven quails, going above and beyond to please her as this wonderful, dutiful son, right? And of course, he also throws in a little veiled threat, also, with the bit about who will pour water for her at her tomb if he is ill and having potentially other problems, maybe legal problems that he's kind of vague about here. Oftentimes, people were vague in these letters to their deceased relatives. They did write letters to their deceased relatives sometimes, but they would be kind of vague sometimes about what the troubles were because they figured their deceased relative, they're in the afterlife and they have powers to be able to see what's going on. So they don't need to explain all the details to them. They know already, right? And so he's saying, that's why he's saying, is it in your presence that I'm being injured? Because the presumption is she knows about this, right? And while this talk about seven quails always makes me smile when I read this text, what also strikes me is how it shows us the love and protection that was expected between family members, in this case with a man's mother. And that mother's love and looking out for her children shows up again and again in Egyptian writing. It's a real focus. And in the instruction of Ani, which is written as advice from a man to his son on how he should behave in his life, Ani says, Double the food your mother gave you. Support her as she supported you. She had a heavy load in you, but she did not abandon you. When you were born after your months, she was yet yoked to you, her breast in your mouth for three years. As you grew and your excrement disgusted, she was not disgusted, saying, Oh, what shall I do? When she sent you to school and you were taught to write, she kept watching over you daily, with bread and beer in her house. And this is a theme that you see in many texts from ancient Egypt. But what gets me about Ani's advice here is the specificity of it. It's so specific and grounded in real life when he's talking about the mother's role, so specific about how long she nursed her baby for three years and so forth. It's not just a general declaration of feeling or responsibility. The ancient Egyptians could be remarkably specific like this in their writing, including in their love poetry as well, like this man who describes the woman of his dreams in Papyrus Chester BD one. Beginnings of the sayings of great happiness. The one, the sister without peer, the handsomest of all. She looks like the rising morning star, at the start of a happy year, shining bright, beautiful of skin, lovely to look of her eyes, sweet of speech of her lips. She has not a word too much, upright neck, shining breast, hair true lapis lazarly, arms surpassing gold, fingers like lotus buds, heavy thighs, narrow waist, her legs parade her beauty. With graceful steps she treads the ground, captures my heart by her movements. She causes all men's necks to turn about to see her. Joy has he whom she embraces. He is like the first of men. And you can feel the love and desire that this person had for this woman or for the idea of her above all others, which he committed to papyrus. Like with all love, eventually there is a loss, of course. And that's what a man wrote for his deceased wife, Ank Yiri, on a papyrus letter for her. This is another letter to the dead, like the one we read at the beginning, but this one on papyrus. And in it he is asking her for help and also asking her to stop causing trouble for him. And he recounts how horrible her illness was and passing were for him as a reminder of how wonderful of a husband he was. Because he seems to feel that maybe she's questioning that, and that's why she's causing problems for him in the afterlife while he lives on. So he wanted to remind her just how dutiful of a husband he had been. He says, When you became ill with the disease which you contracted, I sent for a chief physician, and he treated you and did what you told him to do. Now when I went accompanying Pharaoh in journeying south, death befell you, and I spent these several months without eating or drinking like a normal person. When I arrived in Memphis, I begged leave of Pharaoh and came to where you were, and I and my people wept sorely for you in my quarter. I donated clothing of fine linen to wrap you up in, and had many clothes made. I overlooked nothing good so as not to have it done for you. And then there's this, which is from the whole other end of the country and on a stone stila rather than a papyrus, but somehow it feels like it belongs in the same conversation. This is Nefer Abu, a servant in the town of Daryl Medina, where the people who built the tombs of the Valley of the Kings lived, these royal tombs. And he tells us about how he was suddenly struck with an illness in which he could not catch his breath, and he feared for his life. He apparently had done something wrong, he doesn't tell us what it was, but he felt guilty about something clearly, and he thought that the goddess Meritzegger, who he describes here as the peak of the West, had made him ill as a punishment. But as he recounts, she was also merciful when he called out to her. Once she had shown him how powerful she was and basically taught him a lesson, she then showed him mercy. He says, Giving praise to the peak of the West, that's Merit Segar, kissing the earth to her ca, I give praise, hear my invocation. I am righteous on earth. Then he goes on with the label to let you know who made this stila, who's saying this. He says, made by the servant in the place of truth, that's the name of Darumadina. Nefer Abu, justified, an ignorant man without sense. I did not know good from bad when I made the transgression against the peak, and she punished me. I being in her hand night and day. I sat on a brick like a pregnant woman while I called out for breath, without its coming to me. I humbled myself to the peak of the west, great of power, to every god and goddess. Behold, I will say it to the great and the small in the gang at Daryl Medina, beware of the peak, because a lion is in her. The peak she strikes with the strike of a fierce lion when she is after one who transgresses against her. I called out to my mistress and found her coming to me as a sweet wind, and she was merciful to me. After she let me see her hand, she returned me in peace, and she made me forget the sickness that was in my heart. So the peak of the West is merciful when one calls to her. And then he closes by reiterating who he is and what he's saying. Spoken by Nefer Abu, he says, Behold, may the ears of all those who are alive on earth take heed. Beware of the peak of the West. These stories of grief, illness, and fear remind us how hard life could be for ancient Egyptians. Part of how they coped with the realities of life was through humor and celebrations, as you can imagine, because life can be hard. We have to have the good things to look forward to as well, and ways to let off steam. Sometimes they had to remind each other not to take themselves too seriously. As Amun Nacht writes in a satirical letter, like Nefer Abu and his Stila, Amun Nacht and his letter Hail from Daramadina, the village of the workers who built the royal tombs in the Valley of the Kings. So Amun Nacht wrote the satirical letter, which it seems like he never actually sent to anybody, but he did as kind of a literary experiment and fun. But you can imagine we actually do have some other letters that take a similar tone that were really sent to people. So this gives you an idea of what Egyptians might have said to each other sometimes. Oh you who are greater than me, you who are confident and say, I am somebody. Your heart is a monument of thirty cubits, but your body is like a cord. What joy it is to you that your name is called, and you fly off in haste. It is only when he makes a bad name for himself that one such as you is famed. What strikes me when I read this letter is how well Amun Nocht encapsulates this work colleague or superior with the details of his behavior. We've probably all known somebody like this that he describes. He talks about how they're overly confident and basically kind of like a peacock strutting, showing their feathers, so excited with their own importance and their name being called and so forth, but they actually end up harming their own reputation in the end. But poking fun at each other was not the only way that the ancient Egyptians lightened the mood. Works like Songs of Harpists, which we see in multiple tombs, reminded them to enjoy the present because loss and grief could happen at any time. The Harper song inscribed on the wall of the tomb of a king named Inteph, and then copied onto Papyrus Harris, reminds us that we don't know what's next. So we should celebrate today, and that is what I will leave you with here today, is this Harper song about making the most of your life. You can learn from the ancient Egyptians and their experiences that they went through, the emotions they felt, the hardships, the humor, the downright practical matters that they dealt with, as well as their desire for fun that we hear here. There is no one who returns from beyond that he may tell of their state, that he may tell of their lot, that he may set our hearts at ease until we make our own journey to the place where they have gone. So rejoice your heart. Absence of care is good for you. Follow your heart as long as you live and