“Professor! Isn’t that you, Professor? Do you remember me?”
The voice cut through the late afternoon bustle of the Cairo business district, just past 5 PM. Aya, a woman in her late thirties, sleek in a modern, tailored suit, approached an old gentleman perched on a stone bench, meticulously working his way through a paper bag of pastries. She recognized the precise, scholarly set of his shoulders instantly.
Aya worked for a premium travel agency specializing in high-end Egyptian river cruises. She had just finished leading a recruitment information session for prospective tour guides. The agency was securing staff for their newest venture: the Pharaoh’s Ascent, a luxury cruise ship designed to offer an immersive, academically informed journey along the Nile. The itinerary was set to include extended stops at key archaeological sites like Luxor (Karnak Temple and the Valley of the Kings) and Aswan (Philae Temple and the High Dam), demanding guides with genuine, specialized knowledge. Her own brief, but intense, participation in a university archaeology seminar years ago was the reason she was spearheading this talent search.
The old man, munching on what looked like a Basbousa soaked in honey, peered up, his gaze slowly sharpening behind his spectacles. A genuine smile, a rare event, creased his face. “Aya! The ‘Establishment and Transition Process of Royal Power’ seminar, wasn’t it? You were one of the brightest female students in that group.”
“Wow, you remember me so well, Professor, even though it was over ten years ago!” Aya was genuinely impressed.
“You were beautiful then. How could I forget? And you’ve only grown more stunning now,” he complimented, his tone free of pretense, the way only very old scholars could manage.
Aya sat down next to him, the formal suit a stark contrast to the relaxed setting. “But Professor El-Sayed, what brings you to this part of town? Were you just passing by?”
“I came for your information session,” he admitted, dusting sugar from his tweed jacket. “Since retiring from the university last year, I’ve found that the quiet life is… frankly, overrated. I need engagement.”
Aya frowned slightly, though she was touched. “Is that so? But, Professor, surely not a tour guide position? No matter how insightful your explanations are—say, detailing the Amarna Period’s radical shift in theology, or the engineering marvel of the Ramesseum—the tourists are mostly people who will be focusing on the air conditioning and where to buy the most authentic-looking souvenir cartouche.”
Professor El-Sayed slowly smiled, his eyes twinkling. He reached into the paper bag, pulled out a perfect, glazed piece of Kahk (a traditional Egyptian biscuit), and offered it to her. Aya accepted, taking a bite. The flavor—a hint of cardamom and rosewater—was unmistakable. It tasted exactly like the treats he used to hand out in the back of the lecture hall during his most intricate seminars.
“But, even if people are indifferent to the specifics of, say, the geophysical survey techniques currently being used in the Valley of the Kings, or the most recent findings regarding the Saqqara necropolis,” the Professor explained, chewing thoughtfully, “I still want to explain it sincerely. That’s because by forcing myself to structure and articulate these ideas for a lay audience, I gain clarity. I realize what is missing in the primary evidence, what logic is weak in my own interpretations, and what contradictions exist in the established archaeological theories. In other words,” he concluded, adjusting his glasses, “while the tomb walls and papyri are the input, the public explanation is the crucial output for refining the academic process.”
Aya finished the Kahk, savoring the familiar taste of her student days and the profundity of his statement. She knew then that the Pharaoh’s Ascent had found its star attraction.
All names of people and organizations appearing in this story are pseudonyms
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