By_Suraj Karowa
Cairo, Egypt — November 1, 2025
In the shadow of the eternal Pyramids of Giza, a new colossus rises—not of stone quarried by pharaohs, but of concrete, glass, and unyielding ambition. After more than two decades of delays, political upheavals, and a budget that swelled beyond $1 billion, the Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) flung open its doors on Saturday.
Declared a national holiday by Egypt’s government, the inauguration marks not just the unveiling of 100,000 ancient artifacts but a hard-won victory for cultural preservation in a nation where history is both currency and lifeline.
The story begins in 1992, when Egyptian authorities first envisioned a repository worthy of the Nile’s legacy, one that would eclipse the cramped halls of the aging Cairo Museum. But true momentum ignited in 2002 with an audacious international design competition.
Among 1,556 entries from over 80 countries, a modest proposal from Dublin-based Heneghan Peng Architects—a four-person outfit led by Róisín Heneghan and Shih-Fu Peng—emerged victorious. Heneghan, then in her late 30s, recalls the winning call as surreal. “I thought it was a prank,” she said in a recent interview. “We put down the phone and just stared at each other.”
What followed was an epic saga of endurance. The Arab Spring revolution of 2011 upended the nation, halting construction amid chaos. A military coup in 2013 brought fresh instability.
ANW once pegged 2018 as the grand opening year, only for the COVID-19 pandemic to slam the brakes. Funding woes, logistical nightmares, and the sheer delicacy of relocating treasures—papyrus scrolls, linen-wrapped mummies, golden sarcophagi—pushed timelines ad infinitum. “Big projects are complicated,” Heneghan noted diplomatically. “They’re moving very sensitive pieces. If it takes longer to do it properly, it’s worthwhile.”
Spanning 258,000 square feet of exhibition space, the GEM stands as the world’s largest museum devoted to a single civilization, chronicling Egypt from the predynastic era (circa 3000 BC) to the Coptic period (7th century AD). Its crown jewel: a dedicated gallery for Tutankhamun, showcasing all 5,000 items from the boy-king’s tomb, including his iconic gold mask.
Galleries unfold chronologically, immersing visitors in the Nile’s rhythmic pulse—from predawn pottery to Ptolemaic finery.
Heneghan and Peng’s design is a masterclass in restraint and reverence.
Perched on the Giza plateau, the structure bows to its ancient neighbors. Its roof slopes at a precise angle, aligning with the Great Pyramid’s apex but never surpassing it—a geometric nod ensuring the museum enhances, rather than eclipses, the skyline.
From above, the building unfurls like a telescope’s lens, its walls framing the pyramids in mathematical harmony. “We created a new ‘edge’ to the desert plateau,” Heneghan explained. “It demands prominence horizontally, but not vertically.”
Entry begins in a vast atrium, flooded with natural light through “roof folds” that filter the relentless Egyptian sun. Stone artifacts, less prone to fading than organics, thrive here, defying the dim-lit dogma of modern museums. Towering over all is a 36-foot statue of Ramesses II, the warrior-pharaoh who ruled for 66 years.
A monumental six-story staircase spirals upward, past colossal statues in reverse chronology—ushering visitors from the present toward antiquity. At the pinnacle?
An unobstructed vista of the Giza complex, just a mile distant, where Cheops, Khafre, and Menkaure have stood sentinel for 4,500 years.
Outside, manicured gardens and a plaza anchored by an 87-ton obelisk invite reflection.
Hidden from view are 17 conservation labs and storage vaults, linked by tunnel to shield fragile relics from dust and theft. The architects, denied on-site supervision, monitored progress via Google Earth and snapshots—a common quirk in regional megaprojects. Minor tweaks to the original blueprint were inevitable, Heneghan conceded, but the core vision endures: a space that “appreciates the scale of the collection” while evoking the civilization’s longevity.
For Egypt, the GEM is economic rocket fuel. Tourism, which accounts for 12% of GDP, has rebounded post-pandemic, with 14 million visitors in 2024 alone.
Yet the pyramids draw crowds that strain capacity; the new museum, just 500 meters away, promises to decongest and dazzle. Tickets start at $25 for foreigners, with proceeds bolstering artifact care. President Abdel Fattah el-Sisi hailed it as a “renaissance” during Friday’s ribbon-cutting, attended by dignitaries from UNESCO and the Louvre.
Heneghan and Peng, now employing 20 across offices in Dublin and Berlin, reflect on a career transformed by this coup. Fresh from founding their firm in 1999, the win catapulted them to global notice, paving paths to projects like the Palestinian Museum in the West Bank and Northern Ireland’s Giant’s Causeway Centre.
“It opened a world of possibilities,” Heneghan said. Today, at 62, she wouldn’t overhaul the design. “The underlying structure is strong. It stands up over the years.”
Critics, however, whisper caveats. Some bemoan the cost—equivalent to 20 new schools or hospitals—amid Egypt’s inflation woes. Others question accessibility: Will rural Egyptians, far from Giza, ever partake? And in a region rife with conflict, safeguarding these treasures from climate change or unrest looms large.
Yet on this sun-baked plateau, optimism prevails. As the first waves of visitors—Egyptians granted free entry—ascend that staircase, they bridge epochs.
The GEM isn’t merely a museum; it’s a dialogue between then and now, a billion-dollar bet that pharaohs’ ghosts can still inspire. In Heneghan’s words, it’s “a testament to the longevity and scale of ancient Egyptian civilization.” Twenty-two years later, that vision gleams anew.