I crawl to the center of the flattened pyramid top, where a wooden frame is anchored. It marks the original building height of 146 meters. Akram watches in amazement as I pull everything out of my backpack: a bunch of tent pole segments, a bottle of water, a roll of duct tape, a sweater, a neoprene hood, gloves, and a diving mask. First, I pin the tent pole segments together. At the end of the pole, I attach the bottle with duct tape. Then I put on the sweater, the head hood, gloves and mask. The boy’s eyes get bigger and bigger. I hand him my camera and instruct him to take cover behind a block of stone. As soon as something happens, I explain to him, he should press the shutter release.
At that moment, the sun rises on the horizon and Akram shouts, “Yalla! Yalla!”
I lift the pole with the bottle at the top to a vertical position. It’s a wobbly balancing act. Carefully, I push the pole up along the wooden frame until the bottle is at the original height of the pyramid, then pull my head in. Nothing happens. I push the rod and bottle a few inches higher. No reaction. I continue to correct: a little to the left … to the right … up … down … Nothing! Nada!
All at once Akram points down and yells over to me, “Must go! Must go!”
Cursing, I put the pole aside and step to the edge of the pyramid. Down on the plateau, two white-clad figures are flailing their arms wildly. I ask Akram if that is his father with the other guard? He shakes his head, gives me back my camera, and begins his descent. I want Akram to take a souvenir photo of me on top of the pyramid, but the boy has already disappeared between the stone blocks. Therefore, all that remains for me is to take a quick snapshot of the surroundings.