Jordan announces first hieroglyphic inscription discovery
Jordanian Minister of Tourism and Antiquities Lina Annab announced on Saturday a new archaeological discovery in the area southeast of the Wadi Rum reserve in southern Jordan.
According to Ammon, Annab, in the presence of Egyptian archaeologist Dr. Zahi Hawass, said that the discovery is a royal hieroglyphic inscription bearing a royal seal (cartouche) belonging to the Egyptian pharaoh Ramses III (1186-1155 BC).
The announcement was made during a press conference held in conjunction with World Heritage Day, which falls on April 18. The minister signed a bilateral memorandum of cooperation with the Zahi Hawass Foundation for Antiquities and Heritage to exchange experiences and promote efforts to protect the heritage of humanity.
In statements to international media following the press conference, Hawass said that the inscription is very important because it contains two royal seals (two cartouches) in the name of the Pharaonic King Ramses III, the first of which includes his name at birth, while the second seal includes the name of the "throne." Hawass added: "Here he declares that he is the king of Upper and Lower Egypt."
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Yemenat
19-07-2025
- Yemenat
The First Time I Boarded an Airplane
It was the first time I saw an airplane up close, boarding it via a ladder I wasn't sure was independent or part of the aircraft itself. I settled into my designated seat, and by good fortune, it was next to the window. The plane moved slowly across the airport tarmac, and the instructions to fasten our seatbelts were issued. The flight attendant passed by to ensure that the passengers adhered to these instructions, while I had already managed to overcome my clumsiness in fastening the belt. The plane began to accelerate on the ground, gaining speed more and more, as I, like a child, watched the details of my surroundings through the window. Then, the aircraft took off from Aden International Airport. As the plane ascended, I felt a surge of anxiety. A vast void seemed to fill my chest, larger than my own body, as expansive as the sky the plane was piercing through in its ascent. My heart felt as if it might leap from its place, engulfed by a profound tension. Nothing holds you now as you ascend into the heavens in an airplane. You feel as though your spirit is grasped solely by fate. The fate of the seventy diplomats and crew members who perished in a plane crash in the early seventies in Aden crossed my mind, or perhaps the one that was blown up by a malicious hand… a heinous crime by any measure. I imagined their terrifying end, scattering through the air like shrapnel from a bomb. What dreadful and horrifying luck. Despite the fear that coursed through my veins and seized my being, I tried to muster my courage, while my curiosity proved stronger than both my anxiety and fear. I began to talk to myself: I must suppress my fears. I must overcome my anxiety. Today, I have become an officer; how can I encourage my future soldiers to be brave and valiant? How can I call upon them to be fearless while I am gripped by such terror? Isn't it Che Guevara, the figure I admired, who said that a revolutionary or leader is 'the last to sleep and the first to wake, the last to eat and the first to die'? A leader should not fear death, let alone be paralyzed by anxiety. I sought to bolster my resolve and strengthen my will against the phobia that toyed within me, conversing with myself: 'My brother Ali Saif Hashed was a parachutist who jumped from planes; how can I be less than him? I want to be as brave as he was…' I then recalled a story he once shared about a man who refused to jump from the plane until he received a strong kick from the foot of an Egyptian officer. I continued to speak with myself: 'I don't want to be a coward, nor do I need a kick to learn courage. A coward is more shameful than one who is kicked by every foot. I must be brave enough to overcome this complex. I need to crush this fear that grips me. I must unleash my curiosity that challenges and deserves admiration. I should savor, as much as I can, the view of this fantastical world from this great height…' * * * I pressed my cheek and side of my face against the glass of the window beside me and told myself: I must see the world below from this lofty altitude. I want to know how the earth appears to the eye from the sky! I must know how Aden looks from this height! It's my first time seeing the city of Aden from such an elevation—the streets, buildings, ships, sea, beaches, and its overall geography. Then Aden shrank and faded behind us as the plane devoured the distances, while I barely felt the speed of the aircraft, except gradually, as I noticed what was ahead fading behind us. For the first time, I found myself above the clouds. To be higher than the clouds, or to see them beneath you from above, fills you with wonder and awe. It captivates your attention with what you have never known or seen before. What magic it is to see the clouds below you, spread like cotton scattered in thick layers across vast, fantastical expanses. Viewing the clouds from above is different from seeing them from below; it feels as if you are discovering your world for the first time or anew. I am now discovering the difference. I drift into imagination and wishful thinking, often surpassing the bounds of reason. I wished that the clouds were indeed made of cotton, to cushion us if the plane were to fall for any reason. Their appearance was tempting and alluring, but I quickly reminded myself: 'What a deceptive sight…' The clouds look like layers of soft cotton, but the reality is striking. It reflects the behavior of many politicians who deceive their people with grand promises, ascending to high ranks from which they govern those below, only for the people to discover their great delusion, having fallen from a great height and crashing into a hard reality, resulting in catastrophic consequences. I also recalled a tale I heard in my childhood about a fool who wanted to ride a mule and fell from a height, getting stuck in 'Al-Areeb' tree, summarizing his plight and experience with the words: 'If it weren't for Al-Areeb tree… my Lord would have been merciful.' My curiosity refused to sleep or rest; it felt neither fatigue nor boredom, instead growing more passionate and inquisitive. I gazed from the airplane window at mountains, valleys, the sea, and everything the plane passed over. My love for exploration and knowledge fueled my curiosity, and many questions arose in my eager mind. It was disappointing not to find anyone to answer them, with no guide at hand to respond now. Yet, there is solace in knowing that these questions remain alive, refusing to die. They continuously knock on the doors of my mind and awareness, always seeking an answer, and nothing quenches their burning desire but the rain of knowledge. * * * The plane brought us to the skies of Cairo. Seeing Cairo from the air grants you profound knowledge and longing. You wish to land there, to tread upon its ground step by step. I spoke to myself as I soared above it: Here are the pyramids and all the towering, magnificent buildings. Here was Pharaoh and a civilization. Proud Egypt, the mother of the world, where the people say 'except Egypt.' Where is Port Said, about which I read of the heroism of its sons when I was in the third or fourth grade? Here is Egypt, which defeated the tripartite aggression in 1956, nationalized the Suez Canal, and triumphed in the October War of 1973. Here was a leader of Arab nationalism, Gamal Abdulnasser, and there were betrayals and treachery by small, vile men. My thoughts surged from grand concepts to the smallest details as I conversed with myself: Here are all the great figures, alive and dead. Here was the exiled nationalist Saad Zaghloul, and the enduring hope Mustafa Kamel, who taught us that 'there is no despair with life.' Here stands the dean of Arabic literature, the towering figure Taha Hussein, the exceptional novelist Nageeb Mahfoudh, the prince of poets Ahmed Shawqi, and the legal scholar Sennari. Here is the star of the East, Umm Kulthum. Here lies culture, civilization, and giants of every kind. Here is the Egyptian left in all its diversity and luminaries—poets, writers, journalists, philosophers, and artists. Poets like Amal Dunqul, Ahmed Fouad Negm, and Al-Abnoudi; the people's artist SheikhE mam; the fierce advocate against racial discrimination towards women, Dr. Nawal El Saadawi; the philosopher and scholar Mahmoud Amin El-Alam; and the writer and critic Farida El-Nakash. Here too are the leftist politicians Khaled Mohy El-Din, Rifaat El-Said, Ibrahim Eissa, and Samir Amin. Here stands the great journalist, researcher, and writer Mohamed Hassanein Heikal. Here is the lightheartedness and beautiful Egyptian spirit—the School of Troublemakers and its grand heroes, a play that never tires to be watched for the thousandth time. Here is the beloved nightingale Abdelhalim Hafez, and artists like Farid Al-Atrash and Mohamed Abdelwahab, as well as Shadia, Farid Shawqi, Ismail Yassin, Madbouli, El-Meligy, Fouad El-Mohandes, Ahmed Zaki, and Nour El-Sherif. My brother lived here for about six months, studying in the Signal Corps after graduating from the Military Academy in Sana'a in the 1960s, when Egypt supported the republican regime in Yemen. Egypt, the heart of Arabism, led by a leader who sought to unite our scattered fragments and restore our shattered dreams; yet he was betrayed by the vile, surrounded by traitors to the homeland, historical rotters, and indebted politicians. Here resided the Algerian singer Warda, alongside actresses like Yousra, Shams El-Baroudi, Faten Hamama, Souad Hosny, Najlaa Fathi, and Laila Taher, whose enchanting beauty captivated us, allowing our wandering imaginations to soar during our times of deprivation in the throes of youth and the years of repression that followed. Now, the plane descends, carrying us onward. The plane lands at Cairo International Airport. We remained for about an hour waiting inside, as we were not allowed to exit to the airport lounge or even to transit due to the severed relations with the Egyptian regime by the countries of the steadfast front, including Democratic Yemen, from which we had come, following President Anwar Sadat's signing of the Camp David Accords. After an hour of waiting inside the aircraft, the next plane arrived to take us to Kyiv in Ukraine, and then on to Moscow. We prepared to transfer to it.
Yemen Online
15-07-2025
- Yemen Online
UAE supplies desalinated water to Gaza
The UAE has announced the launch of a new project to supply desalinated water to the southern Gaza Strip through a new pipeline. Under the project, water will be delivered from the Egyptian border, state news agency Wam reported. The pipeline, 6.7km long and 315mm wide, will link the desalination plant built by the Emirates on the Egyptian side to displaced Palestinians between Khan Younis and Rafah. The project, part of the Gallant Knight 3 campaign, aims to serve 600,000 affected Gaza residents, providing 15 litres of desalinated water per person each day. Urgent need More than 80 per cent of water facilities in Gaza have been destroyed, leaving many within the enclave struggling to fight dehydration on a daily basis. 'The new water pipeline project is not merely an emergency response to the water crisis in Gaza, but rather an extension of the UAE's consistent approach to supporting the Palestinian people, especially in light of the catastrophic circumstances caused by the war,' said Sharif Al Nairab, media official for Operation Gallant Knight 3. 'The UAE has been and continues to be the primary supporter of Gaza across various sectors, from the construction of desalination plants to the provision of water tankers, well drilling and network maintenance, all the way to this vital project that seeks to secure drinking water for the most affected areas.' This project is the latest in a series of initiatives launched by the UAE to address the collapse of infrastructure, particularly water resources, in the enclave. It comes as displaced Palestinians in 18 areas of Gaza are being forced to move again as the Israeli army announced eviction orders "for their safety" on Tuesday. Israel's war on the enclave has killed at least 58,479 Palestinians and injured 139,355 since October 7, 2023, Gaza's Health Ministry said.
Yemenat
30-05-2025
- Yemenat
Al-Wahda School
My first education took place at 'Al-Wahda' School in 'Sharar,' located in 'Al-Qabeytah District.' This school started with just one teacher for all subjects, a man born in 'Abyssinia' to a Yemeni father from the village. He was chosen to teach the underprivileged children of the region reading, writing, and some basic knowledge in a manner that was quite modern for those days and advanced for our areas, utilizing notebooks and pens, which was a departure from the traditional methods that had previously existed. Education in our villages during our time was rare and acquired through strenuous effort and persistent dedication. It came at a modest financial cost, manageable for parents. The esteemed teacher we owe our initial education to, perhaps even all of our education, was Ali Ahmed Saad; no one else could take his place. Before his arrival, education in our regions was scarce and often limited to Quranic reading and writing on wooden tablets, a practice known as 'dawa' and 'jar'a.' I recall hearing about the scholar Sayef Muta'har, who taught children to read and write on the tablets that they carried on their backs as they went to what was called 'Al-Ma'lamah.' That form of education lacked a formal school; its methods were very traditional, relying heavily on memorization and rote learning, with collective repetition of what the scholar read. The lessons began with the letters, starting with 'A' as nothing and 'B' as a dot from below. The method employed by our teacher, Ali Ahmed Saad, was based on a modern Egyptian curriculum. It began with the phonetic articulation of letters—dhamma, fat'hah, and kasrah—along with instruction in reading, handwriting, and dictation. As students progressed in their studies, the subjects expanded to include activities such as physical education, drawing, and various artistic skills, like sculpting and creating models from cardboard or reeds. Overall, this teacher was well-educated, an excellent instructor, strict, and deeply committed to his profession and mission. At the same time, he could be harsh in his dealings with us for the slightest negligence, tardiness, or failure to arrive on time for morning assembly. Al-Wahda School began with this teacher alone and was housed in a modest village mosque known as 'Abdulwali Mosque,' named after Abdulwali, one of the righteous saints, whose tomb remains prominent in the center of the mosque. Adjacent to the mosque was a room known as 'Al-Shamsarah.' Later, an administrative office was built nearby, followed by three or four additional classrooms funded by the donations of local citizens. Some of these classrooms were constructed at the edge of an ancient cemetery, the origins of which remain unknown to us. The construction began when a fatwa permitting building outweighed one forbidding it, and thus the cemetery became part of the schoolyard. In the beginning, we alternated our lessons between the mosque's roof, its interior, and beneath Al Sidr tree in front of the mosque, until we finally had an administrative office and four classrooms. Al-Wahda School was my first school, where I studied until the fourth grade, and perhaps a little into the fifth, before transferring to another school in the southern part of the country in the 'Sha'ab' area of Tor Al-Bahah. The name 'Al-Wahda' held a special allure for me; I felt proud and joyful to bear it. Even after completing my university studies, I cherished the memories of my early education. This name and its essence were an integral part of us, reflecting the depth of our identity, our belonging, our nostalgia, and our fervent hope for Yemeni unity, indeed Arab unity, which we had always dreamed of. It stood at the forefront of our grand aspirations, even as children. * * * The bamboo cane, which teacher Ali Ahmed Saad apparently brought from Ethiopia to discipline his students, was the most commonly used educational tool, deployed to punish students for negligence, underperformance, or tardiness to morning assembly. Al 'falaka' was one of his severest punishments, involving lashing or striking the soles of the feet, sometimes reaching twenty strokes – a harsh punishment for children like us. At times, while enduring it, I felt it was more an act of vengeance than discipline. From my position as a student, I sometimes thought the teacher derived pleasure from such cruelty, while from his perspective, he had justifications for imposing such punishment, primarily believing it would benefit us and prevent negligence and laxity in learning. To execute Al falaka punishment on a negligent student, he needed four physically strong classmates to assist. They would lay the student on the ground – two holding his hands and chest, and two lifting his feet to prevent movement – while the teacher forcefully struck the soles of the joined feet with the bamboo cane. Among his common punishments was striking the palms with the cane, sometimes reaching ten consecutive strikes per palm. For heightened severity, he would strike the back of the hands, which caused us even more excruciating pain. Sometimes we found ourselves unable to extend our hands due to the intense pain from these beatings. We felt our palms might burst with blood, often unable to carry them, sometimes feeling as if they were paralyzed. We experienced great cruelty from the teacher as he wielded the cane without regard for the stinging pain that sometimes reached our skulls. In cold weather, our pain sensation intensified manifold, even with fewer strikes, lest the pain overwhelm us completely. Among his less severe physical punishments was forcing a student to stand on one leg, or pressing the ear with three fingers after placing a small stone under one finger to press against the earlobe, while pressing with the other two fingers on the opposite side to intensify our pain.
