What is happening in six villages in the central Sinai Peninsula, Egypt, puts paid to out-dated clichés about the Bedouin people being good at nothing but smuggling.

Over the past year, the people of the villages of Wadi Amr, Karama, Um Shihan, Salahadin and Joura, left without water when the Egyptian government collapsed, have taken matters into their own hands and drilled around 2,000 underground wells. They hope these wells will allow them to develop their communities and land.

What is happening in six villages in the central Sinai Peninsula, Egypt, puts paid to out-dated clichés about the Bedouin people being good at nothing but smuggling.

Over the past year, the people of the villages of Wadi Amr, Karama, Um Shihan, Salahadin and Joura, left without water when the Egyptian government collapsed, have taken matters into their own hands and drilled around 2,000 underground wells. They hope these wells will allow them to develop their communities and land.

Around 70 to 100 meters beneath the surface the villagers have struck a reservoir of groundwater that could turn the surrounding land green.

As he drives us out to the wells from the city of Arish, capital of the state of North Sinai, one the local farmers talks about how the project began.

“Once the revolution broke out, we noticed that the government and private companies – such as Dasco and Regwa – had stopped drilling for wells. They had worked here for three years and they had drilled five 1,200 meter deep wells at a cost of LE25 million (US$4 million). But both companies left abruptly,” he explains. “They sealed the well openings and completely disappeared.”

On the road we’re on, one can see the abandoned plots: they’re very small pieces of land with tents erected around them.

At Salahadin village, we find a large truck, loaded with a drilling machine, which will eventually be used to drill a surface well.

“Two drilling machines have been hired from the nearby city of Rafah, but it costs about LE30,000 (around US$5,000) to drill one well,” our guide explains. “That is too expensive for our villages.”

So the farmers have formed groups in order to make the drilling more affordable.

At the entrance to the village of Barth, we meet Salem Tarbani. He continues the explanation. “Even though the water was going to be pumped from beneath our own land, we were ready and willing to buy water from the drilling companies. We were waiting. But after the companies left, we had to depend on ourselves,” he explains.

The companies could have drilled far deeper, Tarbani says, and any real reservoir would most likely lie at around 1,000 meters under the ground.

But the villagers didn’t have the necessary technology and had to explore for water closer to the surface. At that depth, one might find water that is less salty but that is really only suitable for the irrigation of olive groves, salty water or even potable, or drinking, water.

Near the Oja border crossing, where Egypt meets Israel, we met another local farmer, Ibrahim Swerki, who guides us to one of the drilling sites abandoned by the private drilling firms.

Swerki and other locals had opened up the closed well and discovered water. “We lived for years believing that our lands were dry and waterless because we could only drill close to the surface,” Swerki says. “But the remains of the company’s well gave us hope. I brought a drilling machine and was able to dig and find potable water at a depth of only 100 meters.”

Still, Swerki says, there are still problems to overcome. To operate continuously the water pumps need more voltage than the local electricity supply can offer. The pumps are used alternately because it’s not possible to operate two at the same time.

Egypt’s border area with Israel here remains some of the tensest geography in the country. Which is why, according to the new Egyptian government, the stable development of the communities here is a priority.

So is it possible for Egyptians simply to rely on the villager’s own initiatives to achieve that aim?

“Anyone who visits those areas will be happy to see the increase in green patches there, over the past year,” says Hussein Utaifi, the director of irrigation in the state of North Sinai, who expressed nothing but admiration for the villagers’ do-it-yourself work ethic. “We also have a team that specializes in groundwater research, which will try to help local farmers. However,” Utaifi concludes, “in order to increase the amount of water we also need better, and more, technology and investment in this area.”

Later, during a meeting with the local Bedouins involved, in one of their tents, a 70-year-old farmer named Abdullah continues to explain the problems with agriculture in this area.

“For 60 years, I have been planting melon for my personal use and for my camel too,” he notes. “Then drying the seeds and selling them. Because rain is scarce and the yields are not enough to keep our family.”

At this stage his son, Abdullah Tarbani, interrupts enthusiastically.

“The former regime sold us out,” he argues. “They wanted to sell us basic commodities at high prices. But now we’re trying to change this distorted relationship. If we stand together, we will protect ourselves. Come on! Come and look at my new well,” he said to us happily, pointing at a pipe, about 40 centimetres in diameter that led 70 meters below the earth.

“I’ve named it the “Flower Well”. Just taste the fresh water,” he enthused. “It tastes really good.”

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