“Write No More of Wars, Write of Beginnings” — The Forgotten Vision of Pharaoh Aye and the Return of Kemet
BY: OMOLAJA MAKINEE
In the fading light of his reign, Pharaoh Aye—the elder who bridged the age of Akhenaten and the rise of Horemheb—called his scribes and uttered words that would echo through millennia:
“Write no more of wars. Write of beginnings.”
Those were not mere words of a weary ruler, but a declaration of philosophy—a final appeal to restore the soul of Kemet before it was lost forever. Today, as Africa seeks to reclaim its ancestral memory, those words resurface with urgent meaning. They speak of balance, of identity, and of a civilisation that once ruled not by conquest, but by harmony.
The Two Lineages of Kemet: Priesthood and Royalty
The greatness of ancient Kemet did not rest solely upon golden thrones or the splendour of its monuments. It was sustained by a sacred duality—a balance between two lineages: the priesthood, which interpreted the will of the gods, and the royal bloodline, which carried out that will among the people.
The priests were the keepers of Ma’at, the divine order that bound the cosmos together. The pharaohs were its stewards, rulers who governed not by might but through balance, guided by spiritual counsel. This equilibrium ensured that Kemet’s laws mirrored the order of the universe itself.
But when one lineage sought to dominate the other, imbalance followed. Akhenaten’s reign marked that turning point. His devotion to Aten, though visionary, isolated him from the priesthood. He ruled by decree, not consultation. In his fervour, he severed the spiritual lifeline that once tied pharaohs to the gods of their ancestors. And in that vacuum, the sword replaced the scepter.
From Divine Rule to Military Power
With the rise of Akhenaten’s successors came the ascent of a new force: the military. Warriors like Horemheb rose through conquest, not sacred right. The divine throne of Kemet—once occupied by rulers guided by priestly wisdom—was now a prize of generals.
Aye saw this transformation unfold. As a priestly statesman who had served under multiple reigns, he recognised that Kemet’s wars had become more than political—they were spiritual fractures. The Great House was no longer a house of balance; it was divided by ambition.
So in his final years, Pharaoh Aye spoke the command that would define his legacy:
“Write no more of wars. Write of beginnings.”
It was both a plea and a prophecy—a vision that Kemet’s destiny lay not in endless conquest, but in renewal. Aye dreamed of a restoration in which priestly and royal bloodlines would merge again, healing both the spiritual and genetic fabric of the nation.
When the Nile Turned Red
But Aye’s cry went unheeded. Horemheb ascended after him and installed the military order. Kemet’s wars with neighbouring lands—the Hatti, the Arabs, and the peoples of the Levant—resumed with renewed intensity. The sword that was meant to defend the Nile became an instrument of endless conquest.
Those ancient feuds never truly ended. Centuries later, their echo returned when Arab forces invaded Kemet in the 7th century CE, renaming it Egypt and imposing their language, culture, and religion. What had begun as a struggle against priesthood and royal bloodlines ended in total foreign occupation.
The temples of the gods were repurposed, their names replaced, their faces defaced. The sacred tongue of the Nile was silenced, its hieroglyphs forgotten until modern rediscovery. And so the divine ethno-governed land of Kemet—once the spiritual heart of the Black world—was transformed into a province of foreign empires.
Remembering the True Purpose of Kemet
To understand Aye’s vision is to recognise that Kemet was never meant to be a nation of conquest. It was created as a spiritual centre of balance—a place where the sacred energies of priesthood and pharaohship united to guide the world.
This idea has deep African roots. Long before Kemet rose, the priesthood of the Yoruba—carriers of the Ifá tradition—journeyed northward, following divine instruction to establish a sacred civilisation by the Nile. Kemet was not merely built; it was remembered. Its foundations were the continuation of an older spiritual order rooted in Black wisdom traditions that saw governance as a divine covenant, not a military enterprise.
The Hymn to Hapy, the sacred song of the Nile, embodied that vision. It celebrated unity between north and south, Kemet and Kush—the river’s two great nations. It was a hymn of compromise and renewal, declaring that the waters of the Nile belong to no conqueror, only to those who honour its spirit.
Aye’s Prophecy in the Modern Age
Today, the cry “Write no more of wars” carries new meaning. Africa stands again at a crossroads. The lands of Kemet remain under the control of Arab nationalism, their heritage branded and sold to tourists, while Black Africans—the descendants of those who built its temples—are denied spiritual ownership of their own civilisation.
Would the Vatican surrender its sovereignty to a secular regime? Would Mecca belong to anyone but the faithful who guard it? Then why is the sacred heart of the Black world treated as disposable—its memory marketed, its people excluded?
The time has come to restore balance. The priesthood of the Black Lands—the spiritual custodians of Ifá, of Kushite and Kemetic lineage—hold the rightful claim to restore the Nile as a religious axis of African identity. The vision is not to reclaim through conflict, but through covenant: to establish Kemet as a sacred territory under the guardianship of the African Union, governed like the Vatican, respected like Mecca.
This is not a nationalist movement; it is a civilisational restoration.
The Rebirth of the Black Nile
For over a century, Africa’s history has been rewritten by outsiders. Our gods were renamed, our monuments misattributed, our wisdom reduced to myth. But the memory of Kemet endures—not as archaeology, but as ancestral consciousness.
Aye’s words remind us that our destiny lies not in repeating the wars of the past, but in remembering our origins. The Nile does not need to be reclaimed by force—it must be reclaimed in spirit, law, and culture.
The Hymn to Hapy will be sung again, not as an ancient relic, but as a modern declaration. Its lyrics will celebrate cooperation between nations, reverence for the earth, and unity among Black peoples across continents. It will call for a new covenant—where governance, spirituality, and justice flow together as one river, from its source to its sea.
The New Beginning
In the end, Pharaoh Aye’s words were not a farewell—they were an instruction to the future.
“Write no more of wars. Write of beginnings.”
We are that beginning.
The time has come to restore Kemet as more than a memory. To make the Nile sacred again. To reclaim the story of the Black world not as lost history, but as living destiny. Because nothing about the Nile was ever learned—it was remembered.
And that memory still flows, deep and eternal, within us.
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