Egypt’s Ancient Stick Fighting Art: Meet the Master Keeping Tahtib Tradition Alive

After 50 years of practice, Amer Mohamed Tawfiq now leads Luxor’s National Tahtib Festival, preserving a martial art with Pharaonic roots

For fifty years, Amer Mohamed Tawfiq has practised tahtib, a traditional Egyptian martial art involving ritualised stick fighting, eventually rising to become the Sheikh (master elder) of the National Tahtib Festival in Luxor. This annual celebration, held since the 1990s in the historic Upper Egyptian city, preserves a combat tradition with roots stretching back to ancient Pharaonic times. Despite climbing the professional ranks within the Qus Educational Administration in Qena Governorate, Amer never abandoned his beloved practice, which he views as a living connection to his ancestors’ legacy.

Learning the Ancient Craft

At age ten, Amer decided to learn the sport after years of watching tahtib circles in his village. He began by studying its rules, techniques, and—most importantly—its codes of etiquette and respect. Only then did he progress to practical training under recognised masters.

“In this sport, you must have an ‘Uncle,’ a respectful term for a master teacher, to learn from,” Amer emphasises. “In tahtib, there is no such thing as being self-taught. Someone who didn’t learn from an Uncle isn’t considered a true tahtib player at all.”

Coming Into His Own

“Until I turned forty, I played with fear and sometimes hesitation,” Amer recalls. “But after that, I truly mastered the game. I began competing against anyone without fear or doubt—except for one man: Uncle Gaber Mohamed Omar, who possessed such a commanding presence that you’d lose your focus and concentration in his presence.”

His journey took him across Egypt, from the historic Cairo districts of Sayeda Zeinab and Hussein, south through Sohag, Deshna, and Nag Hammadi, continuing to Esna and Edfu, and finally reaching Aswan near the Sudanese border. “Everywhere I went, I tested my skills and earned the respect of opponents and their audiences alike,” he says. “I never transgressed or harmed anyone unnecessarily. I had no feuds.”

The Erosion of Tradition

Amer speaks with palpable regret about how tahtib has changed over time. “In the past, the ‘Etiquette of the Stick’ ruled everything: respect for elders, adherence to unwritten codes. A younger player wouldn’t presume to sit beside an elder in the playing arena. Tahtib represented manhood and chivalry in Upper Egypt, a discipline for men built not on arrogance or showing off, but on good reputation and earning people’s affection.”

In tahtib tradition, the ability to forgive is valued as highly as physical strength. Amer recounts receiving an accidental blow from an opponent and deciding to return it. “I pursued him for three or four years, appearing wherever he competed, until we finally reconciled ‘for the sake of God,'” he explains. “For me, forgiveness is no less important than strength.”

Guardian of the Game

Amer has participated in tahtib festivals since 1994. Following the death of the previous Sheikh, Mody Al-Aref, he inherited the title of “Sheikh of the Sticks,” a position reserved for someone with both age and experience. As Sheikh, he arbitrates between players, distinguishes legitimate strikes from improper ones, and preserves the authentic spirit of the game.

Media Misrepresentation

Amer sharply criticises how tahtib appears in Egyptian films and television series, dismissing these portrayals as pure acting with no connection to the genuine art. “An actor might learn to hold and twirl a stick convincingly in a month,” he observes, “while a real player needs a full year just to master the fundamentals.”

He’s equally troubled by how modern festivals have blurred the line between combat tahtib and A’sa stick dancing, a related but distinct folk performance tradition. The confusion stems from changes following the death of Abdel Rahman El-Shafie, the National Tahtib Festival’s founder. After his passing, organisers introduced performances by folk art troupes, which altered the festival’s identity.

“People began confusing decorative stick dancing with the martial discipline of tahtib,” Amer explains. “This prompted many serious players to stop participating.”

Revival and Recognition

Despite these concerns, Amer acknowledges the festival’s crucial role in preservation. “Credit must go to the festival for reviving a game that was approaching extinction due to urbanization and modernisation. Many young people had begun to reject it, dismissing it as backward and ignorant. But through its revival, introducing new generations to their ancestors’ heritage and presenting it in a refined, modern context, young people have returned to it. The practice has become less violent and more controlled.”

The festival has also introduced international tourists to this martial tradition with Pharaonic origins, contributing to tahtib’s inscription on UNESCO’s Intangible Cultural Heritage list, a recognition that helps ensure its survival for future generations.

As for which region of Egypt produces the finest tahtib practitioners, Amer is diplomatic: “All of Upper Egypt”, the southern region of the country stretching from Cairo to Aswan, is filled with masters, from Sohag to Qena and Edfu. No place can be favoured over another, because every player has his own distinctive style and technique.”