You say nefer, I say nefre

The more I studied, the more I found out that hieroglyphs form a complicated language with syntax, spelling, and grammar. The pictures are mostly phonograms, that is, they stand for sounds, unless, in some instances, they actually stand for the item they depict. So, our owl friend is actually the sound for the letter M. And it can mean “in” or “from”. Or it can mean the owl itself. 

If that’s not confusing enough, it appears that vowels were second class citizens in the world of hieroglyphs. They were not included in written words. Ever. Nefer, the word meaning good, perfect, and beautiful—as in Nefertiti—was spelled nfr. It was only for modern convention that the vowel e was added. For all we know, it could have sounded like nifar, nofro, enfra, nafre, or any of the other dozens of possible combinations. That’s why no one knows exactly how the ancient Egyptian language sounded. 

Well, I like a challenge, so I learn the syntax, sentence structure, spelling, and verbs tenses. But that’s not enough. It turns out that these ancient souls had a requirement that superseded everything else. When written, the whole hieroglyphic arrangement had to look good. And looking good, hieroglyphically speaking, is a very subjective thing, let me tell you. Apparently, the spelling and grammar rules became optional if the resulting hieroglyphs didn’t look good, if they weren’t pleasing or symmetrical or straight, if they were too long or too short, or, I’m convinced, if it was the Monday following the full moon and Rahotep’s donkey had the colic. So, in order to beautify the script, the scribes disregarded all established rules and joyously rearranged the signs in a word, left out some, added extra ones, rearranged the words in a sentence, or even left out words altogether. For heaven’s sake! Or, should I write “Ssake orf heavns”?

Thinking back to my scrambled last name in the hospital, perhaps the person responsible for my change of nationality was merely returning to his or her ancient roots and following hieroglyphic whimsy.  Maybe Descent doesn’t look as good as Sekdeny, or perhaps there was a colicky donkey somewhere in the Greater Cairo area.

This messing about obviously didn’t bother the ancient Egyptians. I guess they were used to it and knew what they were trying to say, unlike the modern scholars who have to spend years of studying, learning, and research just to be able to translate the old texts. 

Well, this messing about, this blatant disregard for grammar and spelling, this syntax revolt has severely curdled my preserves, mental and otherwise. As you know, I like rules and I strive to follow them. And I expect others do to the same, ancient peoples or not. This “gotta look good” stipulation just doesn’t cut it.

I make a decision to save what’s left of the unspoilt staples in my intellectual pantry. Never mind reading a wall! I settle for recognizing the pharaohs’ names and rudimentary ovations and phrases. That will come in handy when I explore the tombs in the Valley of the Kings. Perhaps I may even find reference to some daft curse. . .