Abu Haggag Mosque

Stand in the open court of Luxor Temple and look up. Above the sandstone columns, a small mosque sits in the air. Its pale walls and slim minaret rise from the ruins like a house built on a cliff. Somewhere above you, a door opens onto nothing at all. The stone under your feet is warm and gritty, and pigeons move along the ledges. This is the Abu Haggag Mosque, and it is one of the strangest buildings in Egypt.

The strangeness comes from time and sand. When the mosque was first built, the old temple was not the open site you see today. Over many centuries, sand, flood silt and the debris of daily life buried it. Houses, lanes and workshops grew on top of the ancient stones. A whole town lived several metres above the pharaohs' floor. The builders of the mosque set their foundations on that raised ground, among the tops of columns that were mostly hidden below.

The mosque carries the name of Yusuf Abu al-Haggag, a Sufi holy man. Sufism is the mystical tradition within Islam, focused on a close personal path to God. Accounts say he came from Baghdad and settled in Luxor in the medieval period, around the thirteenth century. He became the town's patron saint. People still visit his tomb here to pray and to ask for his blessing. For many families in Luxor, his name is part of daily life.

Now think about what happened later. In the late nineteenth century, archaeologists began to clear Luxor Temple. Workers removed tonnes of earth and the village houses that sat on it. Slowly the great courts and colonnades came back into the light. But the mosque stayed. The local community would not let their saint's shrine be taken down. So the archaeologists dug around it, and the mosque was left standing high on its island of old ground.

That is why the building looks the way it does today. Walk to the side of the court and look at the mosque's lower wall. You can see the line where the old ground level once sat. Below that line, the temple's columns and stone blocks continue down to the original floor. One old doorway on the temple side now hangs well above your head. Once, people walked straight through it from the street.

The court around you is part of the temple that Ramesses the Second added, more than three thousand years ago. Ramesses was one of ancient Egypt's longest-reigning kings, and he built on a grand scale. His columns here are shaped like bundles of papyrus stems. Some of them are partly built into the mosque itself. Inside, worshippers pray beside pharaonic stone. Few buildings in the world put two religions so close together, separated by thousands of years.

The mosque you see is not exactly the medieval original. It has been repaired and rebuilt several times over the centuries. The minaret is generally thought to be the oldest surviving part, with a base of mud brick. In the early twenty-first century, a fire damaged the building, and it was restored afterwards. So the walls you see mix old and new work. Look closely, and the different textures of brick and plaster tell that story.

Here is a detail many visitors miss. Some historians believe this spot was sacred even before the mosque. Christians in late Roman times used parts of Luxor Temple as places of worship, and traces of painted plaster survive elsewhere in the temple. Some writers suggest a church once stood near this place. That idea is not certain. But it fits a pattern you see across Egypt, where one faith often built on the holy ground of another.

The second surprise is a festival. Every year, Luxor celebrates the moulid of Abu al-Haggag. A moulid is a festival for a saint's birthday, full of music, crowds and street food. It takes place in the weeks before Ramadan, the Muslim month of fasting. During the procession, people carry model boats through the streets. And this is where the story turns back in time.

In ancient times, Luxor Temple was the end point of the Opet Festival. Priests carried the sacred boats of the god Amun from Karnak Temple to this temple, along the river and the avenue of sphinxes. Many scholars see an echo of that ancient procession in the boats of the modern moulid. No one can prove a direct line across so many centuries. Still, it is remarkable to see boats carried through the same town, toward the same sacred ground.

The mosque is still a working place of worship. You may hear the call to prayer rise from the minaret while tourists photograph the ancient columns below. The two worlds share this space every day. Visitors usually see the mosque from the temple side, but its main entrance faces the modern town. If you go there, dress modestly, remove your shoes, and respect prayer times. Women may be asked to cover their hair.

From the modern street, the mosque feels very different. There, it sits at ground level, like any neighbourhood mosque. Shops, cafes and carriages pass nearby. Only from inside the temple do you see how high it really stands. Try to see it from both sides. The contrast shows you, in one short walk, how much the ground of Luxor has changed over the centuries.

Before you move on, look up once more. See the pale minaret against the blue sky, and the dark columns below it. Notice the old doorway in the wall, still waiting for a street that is gone. Listen for the pigeons and the voices of the town beyond the temple wall. Three thousand years of worship are stacked in front of you... and the people of Luxor are still adding to the story.