Egypt’s indigenous Nubian population continues its uphill battle to preserve a culture nearly drowned by a dam and decades of neglect.
Back in the 1960s, thousands of Nubians watched their villages disappear under water. It wasn’t a natural disaster — it was policy. The building of the Aswan High Dam gave Egypt a powerful energy source and a regulated Nile. But it came at the cost of a culture.
The dam submerged more than ancestral land — it buried traditions, fractured communities, and left scars that haven’t healed even after six decades. Now, a new generation is trying to reclaim what was nearly lost.
The Flood That Silenced a Language
The construction of the Aswan High Dam started in 1960 and was hailed as a monumental national project. For the Nubians, though, it marked the beginning of cultural erasure.
By 1970, when the dam was completed, entire Nubian villages had vanished. Tens of thousands were uprooted and resettled in areas far from their homes and history.
The displacement disconnected people from their customs and traditions. It cut off the younger generation from the songs, stories, and symbols of their identity.
Growing Up Between Two Tongues
One of the biggest cultural challenges Nubian youth face today is language.
In many cases, they grow up speaking Egyptian Arabic. Their formal education is in standard Arabic. But within families, among elders, there’s another voice — one that’s fading.
• The two main Nubian languages, Nobiin and Kenzi-Dongolawi, are now mostly spoken by older generations.
This “language duality” creates tension. Young Nubians often understand their mother tongue but can’t speak it fluently. That’s a problem, because language is the vehicle for culture. If the language disappears, so does much of the tradition tied to it.
Reclaiming Identity Through Film and Storytelling
Some people aren’t letting that happen quietly.
Enter Hafsa Amberkab. She’s not just a filmmaker — she’s a cultural preservationist. Through her initiative, Koma Waidi, she’s reaching out to Nubian youth with a powerful message: Your heritage matters.
Koma Waidi isn’t a conventional classroom. It’s creative, visual, and emotional. Young people engage with their history through workshops and filmmaking, reclaiming stories that once felt distant.
Amberkab’s documentary projects spotlight voices that might otherwise be lost. And they do more than teach — they connect. That feeling of being part of something bigger, of belonging to a past worth remembering, is powerful stuff.
Nubians in Egypt: A Forgotten Piece of the National Puzzle
Here’s the thing. Most Egyptians don’t really know much about Nubian culture.
That’s not by accident. State narratives have historically sidelined Nubian contributions to Egyptian history. And because of that, Nubians often feel invisible within their own country.
But that’s starting to shift. Cultural festivals, exhibitions, and academic work are bringing Nubian history back into public discourse — slowly, but steadily.
But efforts like Amberkab’s are helping to bridge that gap — not just within Nubian communities, but across Egyptian society.
A Culture at Risk: Can It Survive Another Generation?
So, where do we go from here? Honestly, it’s a tough call.
On one hand, there’s momentum. Nubian youth are increasingly aware of their identity. There’s pride, curiosity, and even a sense of urgency. On the other hand, the risks are real.
Let’s put it in perspective with a quick table:
| Cultural Factor | Status | Threat Level |
|---|---|---|
| Language | Declining among youth | High |
| Storytelling/Oral History | Preserved through elders and media | Medium |
| Traditional Practices | Sparse outside festivals or rituals | High |
| Visibility in Egypt | Growing but still marginal | Medium |
| Government Support | Limited, largely symbolic | High |
Cultural preservation isn’t passive — it takes action, time, and yes, funding. Without strong local and national backing, the pressure on community-led initiatives like Koma Waidi is immense.
Still, there’s something stubborn about culture. It fights to survive.
The Nile Is Still There. So Are They.
The Nile once flowed right through Nubian villages. Now it flows past concrete walls and over buried memories.
That connection to water, to land, to song — it doesn’t vanish overnight. It’s tucked in lullabies. It’s in the way elders sit and speak. It’s in the stories Hafsa’s camera captures and the way kids start to pronounce a word in Nobiin for the first time.
And while the villages may be gone, the culture isn’t — not yet.
