Black Genesis: The Prehistoric Origins of Ancient Egypt

indeed, even in modern times. On the command of the ruling pharaoh, they were about to leave their tranquil and lush
island on the Nile and set out westward into the open and uncharted desert. In those days, this adventure would have been
the equivalent of a first manned NASA mission to Mars. Indeed, the faraway region that they would eventually reach is so
similar to the Martian landscape that the Egyptian scientist at NASA, Dr. Farouk El Baz, actually uses it as a model to
study the geology of the Red Planet. 11
Iry had been chief lector priest to the pharaoh Pepi I, and after the king’s untimely death, Iry retained the same post
under the new pharaoh, Merenre I (sixth dynasty, 2323–2150 BCE). Upon their return, and after Iry passed away, his son
Harkhuf succeeded him as chief lector to Merenre I and also to this pharaoh’s successor, the boy-king Pepi
II. Harkhuf was also appointed governor of Aswan and Elephantine. It was under the orders of King Merenre I and
then later King Pepi II that Harkhuf and his father, Iry, mounted several expeditions into the deep desert to “explore the
way to the land of Yam.” 12
But where was Yam, and why was it so important for the pharaohs to send their most trusted advisors on such a
dangerous mission . . . one from which they might never have returned? The location of the land or kingdom of Yam has
long confounded Egyptologists. Some have believed it to be located south of Aswan, between the first and second
cataracts of the Nile; others have thought that it was in the west, in the region of the inhabited oases such as Kharga or
Dakhla. 13 These relatively accessible locations were proposed by Egyptologists because, until recently, scholars were
convinced that the ancient Egyptians could not travel into the deep desert but could journey only southward along the
Nile Valley or westward, but no farther than the habitable oases. Beyond these oases lies a seemingly endless and lifeless
desert, a vast expanse of pure nothingness of sand, dust, and rocks, and so Egyptologists insisted that no one in their right
mind would attempt to venture there without being sure they could return safely. The practical problem is that the
maximum distance that anyone can travel into this waterless desert on foot (or by donkey, as Harkhuf did) is about 200
kilometers (about 124 miles), unless there are some water sources along the way. Any farther would mean a certain
gruesome death by dehydration. Gilf Kebir and Jebel Uwainat, however, are a staggering 650 kilometers (400 miles)
west of the Nile, and the journey to these places is theoretically impossible without a means to replenish the caravan with
water and food.
In addition, it seems that another issue—one of a spiritual nature—troubled the ancient Egyptians: they apparently
regarded the Sahara as the place of death and a place where evil spirits lived. Thus, according to the Egyptologists, they
would certainly have refrained from venturing too far into it.
Finally, and more to the point, there was not a single shred of evidence that could attest to the presence of ancient
Egyptians beyond the oases. Although on the one hand there is much evidence of their presence in all five major oases of
the Egyptian Sahara—Kharga, Dakhla, Siwa, Bahareya, and Farafra—in the form of temples, tombs, and an abundance of
artifacts, there was for a long time absolutely no trace of them beyond the vicinity of these oases. Because of this lack of
evidence, then, and also because of the forbidding geographical conditions, Egyptologists concluded that no one in
ancient times had traveled into the deep desert. Indeed, it was not until relatively recent times—in 1879, to be more
precise—that the likes of explorers such as Gerhard Rohls, and later, in 1920, Hassanein and Rosita Forbes, attempted
such deep-desert journeys. The Egyptologists concluded that even if Yam was in the Egyptian Sahara, it must have been
one of the habitable oases, either Kharga or Dakhla. As far as they were concerned, Gilf Kebir and Jebel Uwainat, let
alone anywhere beyond these, were simply too far and out of reach for Harkhuf.
Nevertheless, some open-minded Egyptologists admitted that Yam’s “location remains uncertain. . . . [O]nly new
archaeological discoveries inscribed or otherwise, could resolve the issue.” 14 This last statement—that ancient
inscriptions could resolve the issue—was uncanny, for, as we will soon see, that is precisely what did happen in late
2007: ancient inscriptions were found that finally helped locate the lost kingdom of Yam. Before we go into this,
however, let us re-examine the writings of Harkhuf (they are inscribed on the walls of his tomb at Aswan) and see for
ourselves what can be derived from them. Here is the full text translated by French Egyptologist Claire Lalouette:
His Majesty Merenre, my master, sent me, together with my father, Sole Companion and Lector-Priest, Iry, to the
land of Yam to explore its ways. I carried out this mission in seven months, I brought back all sorts of tributes,
beautiful and rare and I was praised for it very highly.
His Majesty sent me a second time, alone. I went by way of the Elephantine road and returned via the land of Irtet,
Makher and Teres of Irtet at the end of a voyage of eight months. I returned carrying tributes of this land in very great
numbers, of a kind, which nobody had ever brought to Egypt before. I returned, coming from the camp of the chief