Falling Into A Saqqara Tomb

Silly me, when I visited the Djoser Step Pyramid complex of the Saqqara necropolis (ancient Egyptian burial ground city), I was worried I would fall into a catacomb, one of those recesses between the ancient Egyptian tombs. Little did I know I would be falling hard for a 4,300-year-old royal scribe carved in stone in his own tomb.

As part of our tour, we visited the Teti Pyramid area, which is part of the larger Djoser Step Pyramid complex. It contains many tombs of royal scribes and administrators who served the court and were later buried here.

We walked around while little kids spotted us and shouted, “India, India!” Our tour guide took us to the Tomb of Kagemni, belonging to the royal scribe and Vizier Kagemni, who worked for Pharaoh Teti.

Inside the Tomb of Kagemni

Inside the tomb, you begin to understand the life and times of Kagemni, his rituals, beliefs, and worldview. His massive mastaba tomb is famous for its exceptionally detailed, lively reliefs depicting everyday life: fishing in marshes, hunting, force-feeding geese and hyenas, cattle herding, dancers, and offerings.

As with any tomb, it was meant to honor him in death and sustain him in the afterlife through magic and memory.

And then I came upon him. OMG.

A relief of a tall Egyptian man in a gorgeous kilt and broad collar. Damn, that power can only come from literacy, not brute force.

Kagemni, The Royal Scribe

The Reed Pen: Real Power in Ancient Egypt

In ancient Egypt, the reed pen signified power. In their society, birth mattered, but literacy mattered more. Only a tiny fraction of people could read and write.

If you held a reed pen, you were recording taxes, tracking grain and labor, writing laws and prayers. Symbolically, the reed pen stood for intellect, order (represented by ma’at the goddess with an ostrich feather for truth and balance), and immortality.

The Egyptians believed that to be forgotten was to die again. So they had scribes inscribe tomb texts, offering formulae, and most importantly names that would be spoken forever. Through their words, scribes didn’t just survive life, they outlived it.

The royal scribe had the most upward mobility. If he was good, he could become an overseer, a vizier (a high-ranking official), or even a governor.

Becoming a Scribe Was Brutal

But how one became a scribe, after enduring brutal training and rigor, was something else entirely.

They started young, around five to seven years of age. Schools were often attached to palaces, temples, or administrative offices.

Students learned through rote memorization, endlessly copying lists of signs, words, and formulae. They learned hieroglyphs for monuments and sacred texts, and hieratic, a faster, cursive script for daily administrative tasks.

Punishment for infractions was severe. An Egyptian teaching proverb translates to: “A boy’s ear is on his back. He listens when he is beaten.”

Scribes used water reeds that grew along the Nile. A piece of reed was softened in water, then cut and shaved with a knife to form a flat, pointed nib with a small slit to hold ink. Ink was made from soot (carbon black) mixed with gum arabic and water to create black ink, with other colors also available. Think of the glorious colors we often associate with Middle Eastern art, lapis lazuli and red jasper.

As students, scribes first practiced on broken pottery and wooden tablets before moving on to writing on papyrus sheets. As part of their training, they were also taught how to sit, stand, and hold the body while writing. No wonder they are depicted as calm, seated, or gently striding. ❤️❤️

Scribes Had the Best Job in the World

The Instructions of Dua-Khety, also translated as The Satire of the Trades, is usually remembered for its sharp, almost merciless mockery of every profession that isn’t scribal.

And that’s partly true. But there’s a deeper intention in the text that we can’t ignore.

The opening is satirical, describing all other professions as withering away in toil. Bricklayers freeze in the wind, potters suffocate in clay, washermen scrub clothes beside crocodiles, craftsmen rot, ache, and bend until their bodies give out. It’s dark, funny, and unforgettable.

Then the second half suddenly morphs into a manual for character and wisdom. Khety, as a father, guides his young son on the journey to scribal school. He no longer merely discourages other trades, he begins shaping the inner life of a scribe.

He teaches restraint, attentiveness, precision of speech, ethical behavior, and social awareness. He speaks about how to listen, how to carry words faithfully, and how to move through power without arrogance.

Copied for centuries by children in scribal schools, The Instructions of Dua-Khety was not just career propaganda. It was formation. It taught young minds that education is not only a way out of physical hardship, but a way into ethical adulthood.

Even more than 4,000 years later, its core message still holds in a world of relentless distraction. Mastery of words or coding, if that’s the language you’re into, is not merely power. It is protection, purpose, and a way of living with intention.

Education is not abstract or an elite privilege. It is literally our path to stability, respect, and influence.

Because I want my words to last another 4,000 years, maybe I should start writing them with a reed pen.

Coming Back to the Present (Sort Of)

Once I walked out of Kagemni’s tomb, I went underground into Pharaoh Teti’s pyramid. There, in the sweltering, musty chambers, tourists crowded together while men made small talk and asked for money in exchange for taking photos with tombs and hieroglyphics.

I did my best to avoid one man who was following me offering to take my picture, and he told me I looked like I could be the queen of this place. And for one dollar he seemed persistent but harmless. So, hell yeah, I posed LOL.

Kagemni might have ruled the Old Kingdom of Egypt with a reed pen. That Egyptian man in Saqqara was gorgeous, but he didn’t tell me he would worship the earth I walked on.

Still, his pen penetrated my heart, and he has left it there. ❤️

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