Voyage to God's Land: The 1470 BCE Punt Expedition

I am standing on the humid, aromatic shores of the Red Sea, but the year is 1470 BCE. The air here is thick, not just with the salt spray of the ocean, but with a scent that defines this entire era of history: raw frankincense and myrrh.

Before me lies the fabled Land of Punt, likely what we would call the coast of Eritrea or Somalia today. The scene is exactly as it will one day be carved into the stone walls of Deir el-Bahari, yet seeing it in living color is overwhelming. The water is a piercing turquoise, teeming with fish that dart between the wooden piles of the local architecture. That is the first thing that strikes you—the houses. They are not the mud-brick structures of Egypt. These are beehive-shaped dwellings raised high on stilts, hovering above the marshy ground, accessible only by wooden ladders.

The Egyptian Fleet

Out in the bay, five massive Egyptian ships, each over seventy feet long, are anchored. They are masterpieces of cedar wood, likely imported from Lebanon, and their heavy linen sails are currently furled. The activity on the beach is chaotic and disciplined all at once. Egyptian sailors, waist-deep in the surf, are wading ashore, not with weapons of war, but with trade goods—strings of beads, daggers, and axes to exchange.

I am making my way toward a tall, authoritative figure overseeing the unloading. He wears the fine white linen kilt of a high official and a heavy gold collar that catches the relentless African sun. This is Chancellor Nehsi, the leader of this expedition and the man personally entrusted by Queen Hatshepsut to find the way to 'God’s Land.'

He gestures toward a group of locals approaching from the village. Leading them is the Chief of Punt, Parahu, a man with a long, pointed beard, and his wife, Queen Ati. Her appearance is striking, distinct from the Egyptian ideal, with a physicality that commands space and respect. Nehsi bows to them, a gesture of diplomatic equality that is rare for an Egyptian official.

A Botanical Feat

But the true marvel of this expedition isn't the gold or the ivory piling up on the sand; it is a scientific gamble that Nehsi is currently orchestrating. I walk with him toward a group of sailors who are gingerly handling what looks like a small forest.

This is the heart of the mission. Nehsi points to thirty-one myrrh trees. They are not seeds or saplings, but mature trees, their roots encased in large woven baskets filled with the native soil of Punt. Nehsi explains the anxiety of this task. He tells me that Amun desires a garden of incense for his temple in Thebes. To transport a living tree across the salt sea and then across the scorching desert to the Nile is a feat of agricultural engineering that has never been attempted.

He describes the process: they had to dig carefully to preserve the root ball, wrapping it in wet burlap and placing it in baskets to protect it from the salt spray. He notes that four men are required to carry each tree. If these trees die on the journey, the central purpose of the mission fails. He seems confident, yet I can see him checking the leaves of the nearest tree, ensuring it hasn't wilted in the heat.

Navigating the 'Great Green'

Leaving Nehsi to his logistics, I find a navigator resting in the shade of a hull. He is an older man, his skin weathered by years on the 'Great Green,' the Egyptian name for the sea. I ask him about the journey here.

He laughs, a dry, raspy sound. He tells me that the Nile is a predictable mother, but the Red Sea is a chaotic beast. He explains that they hugged the coast, never losing sight of land. At night, he says, they looked to the 'Imperishable Stars' in the northern sky to keep their bearing, though down here, the familiar constellations shift, dipping lower toward the horizon. He speaks of the fear the crew felt when the coast turned barren, wondering if they would sail off the edge of the world. But he says the birds guided them—the waterfowl of Punt are different, and when they saw the strange birds depicted in the reliefs, they knew they were close.

The Riches of Punt

I look back at the beach. The trade is in full swing. I see piles of ebony logs, stacked like lumber. There are tusks of ivory, and raw gold rings. I even see a few sailors trying to wrangle a baboon that is screeching in protest, destined for the royal zoo. A giraffe stands quietly nearby, its long neck craning over the chaos, watching the Egyptians with mild curiosity.

Nehsi calls out orders. The loading has begun. The myrrh trees are being carried up the gangplanks with the reverence usually reserved for statues of gods. The smell of the resin is overpowering, a sweet, heavy scent that will cling to these sailors for months.

As the sun begins to set, casting long shadows over the stilt houses and the turquoise water, I realize I am witnessing the birth of global trade. This isn't just a shopping trip; it is a diplomatic and botanical odyssey. When these ships return to Thebes, the trees will be planted in the courts of Deir el-Bahari, a living testament to Hatshepsut’s power and vision.

For now, the fleet rests in the harbor of God's Land, the wooden hulls creaking gently in the swell, heavy with the treasures of a world that was, until today, just a legend.