By David Banks.
For the moment I’m alone on my belly crawling in darkness. With every breath I can feel spiny particles of dust entering my nostrils and working their way up to my sinus cavity. It is here where the tiny particles of earth, parasites, spores and history will stowaway for months — traveling secretly through my membranes which means for the next six months a carnival sideshow of “freaks of nature” will make their presents known on the main stage of my face.
Above me is “the collapsed pyramid,” also known as the Meidum pyramid. Meidum is the forgotten pyramid of Egypt, about 20 miles south of Cairo. At her base are tons of scattered fragments from an outer shell that collapsed when Pharaoh Sneferu tried to transform it into a true pyramid with a flat triangular sides. I have crawled into a shaft on its eastside which was originally dug out by tomb robbers some 4,000 years ago.
These looters did not waste time on making their entrance passage any bigger than absolutely necessary. Switching my headlamp on, I extend my arms out in front of me, holding the video camera to document my progress. However, it is my ample rump that curbs my progress as I reach the crux of a tight squeeze. With the toes of my boots I push forward and with a grunt I move along, scooping with me a layer of earth down into the crotch of my pants. I am scarcely breathing in spite of the money we paid the Egyptians to stand at the entrance with torn pieces of cardboard to fan hot air into the tunnel. It is this suffocating heat that worries me more than snakes, scorpions and the curse of the
mummy.Even though the sun is 94.5 million miles away and takes roughly 8 minutes to reach earth it seems as if the sun has directed all its energy from purgatory to Meidum. The temperature is well above ninety degrees in the conduit and my body-fluids are evaporating faster than I can replace. On the way to this location I hydrated with bottled water, Fanta, hot Coca Cola and triple espressos to the point of OD’ing.
I’m parched, my voice has become a scratchy whisper and it’s at this point, wedged into my Egyptian hole, that I discover I have complicated feelings. Should I have stayed in L.A. hiring myself out to shoot other peoples dreams? No! After a transient adventure with ABC Network it was time to bail when I was brought up on charges by my union for introducing a new camera called the Betacam. I had become the pipe bomb in their midst for embracing new technology that would ultimately change broadcasting forever. In the eyes of the union, I had passed the point of no return. So, I left my comrades behind with the shrapnel of old ideas. It was that camera -the Betacam- that became my fast-pass to the world and brought me to this hole in the ground.
My job on this shoot is to document tombs in Egypt and Israel. Waiting for me to get into position is Dr. Salima Ikram from the American University in Cairo. A Cambridge graduate, Dr. Ikram’s specialites are Egyptian archaeology, mummification and Egyptian religion. Armed only with a silk hand fan, a sky blue headscarf and a devotion to the music of David Bowie on her iPod, Dr. Ikram has ventured into ancient tombs and ruins more
times then Lara Croft or Indiana Jones combined-she is the real deal. Maybe it is the adrenaline or the espressos, but after popping out of that earthly womb and into that burial chamber, I feel my rebirth has begun. I inhale a lung full of hot air and turn and face the tunnel. “Okay Dr. Ikram, I’m in the chamber” I shout. “Dave, tell me when to start crawling and I’ll describe what lengths the tomb raiders were willing to go.” she shouted back. “Let me get situated and I will cue you to start crawling” I replied. “Okay Dave, remember if I have to stop and turn around you promised not to shoot my bum.”“I promise” I say, with a smile. God, I love my job.
