‘Let’s start at the very beginning...it’s a very good place to start...When you sing, you begin with ‘doh, re, mi’...When you start a revolution you begin with ‘fb..tweet’...
I’m certainly no Maria Von Trapp but there was a definite rhythm to this astonishing revolution on the Nile.
The first demonstrations were on Tuesday 25 Jan. I was at work although it was a Public Holiday for the Police! On the Monday, Sandy, wonderful Learning Assistant for one of my students told me her fb pals had alerted her there would be major demonstrations in downtown Cairo. I sarcastically said, ‘Egyptians are going to ‘organise’ themselves? Do they know what it means?’ Although Egyptian herself, we shared the joke. Returning home, husband who did have a holiday that day said the demonstrations at Tahrir Square were major. We switched on the Aljazeera English channel and watched the report. I loved the comment from the gamine reporter who described Egyptians as being ‘generally an apathetic populace’ but what they decided to do was deeply organised and striking. There was no indication there would be anything else to follow. On Wednesday it was noted, there were still protesters on the Square which is actually quite an ugly roundabout near the garishly pink and thus iconic Egyptian Museum. On my drive to school, Hassan my driver who has always made it clear with the comment, ‘Egypt very bad’ showed me the front pages of his newspaper. There were photos from Tahrir Square the night before and Hassan’s comment was, ‘Mubarak is finished’.... Thursday, some of the protesters were still there although numbers were sparse. As we left school on Thursday, Sandy warned me not to go out of Maadi on Friday after Friday prayers. Word was out it was to be the ‘Day of Wrath’.
Friday 28 Jan 2011
That morning, after a lazy lie in, husband went to his lap top to check some downloads had been completed. He rushed into the bedroom and said, ‘The Internet is down. They’ve cut the Internet’. There were rumours the Internet would be cut and mobile networks shut down. Sure enough, I reached for my mobile and tried a call. Call would not go through! We looked at each other slightly bemused. Immediately, we switched on Aljazeera. All cameras were poised on Tahrir Square which was empty. The security services, it was reported, would not be tolerant that day. We waited for the Imam to finish his sermon, which we could hear from the mosque opposite our flat. Within minutes, on our TV screens, we saw the worshippers empty from the mosques around the Square. We rushed to our window to see those in our neighbourhood. There were no flags, no shouting, nothing. Glancing back at the screen, it was a very different picture in downtown Cairo. In no time it seemed, tear gas was used and from then on, events escalated. For the next two or three hours, we watched avidly trying to take in all we saw. The scenes were astonishing, more so as the brutality of the Security Services became apparent. Outside in Maadi, it was oddly quiet. There were some construction workers on the new flyover; the ole boys at the filled in sand pit crater carried on seemingly oblivious to all that was taking place in their capital an hour’s drive away. We heard that Aljazeera Arabic was no longer accessible to the Egyptians. We had planned a walk through to Digla, and we decided to go. Walking out to the main street, we noticed nothing unusual. However, once at the railway crossing, we both felt our nostrils and throats burning. Husband commented it was tear gas in the air. Somewhere fairly close by, it must have been used. We walked along the affluent street along the CAC (Cairo American College) and saw nothing out of the ordinary. We went into several small stores and noticed the shop keepers glued to their TV screens. They were accessing what was happening in the Square from somewhere! As always, they were gracious to us. Before heading to our local supermarket, we stopped to have coffee. The place was nearly empty. A group of young folk were again glued to the TV. The two young men seated at another table were waiters. We were the only other customers. We ordered coffee and peckish, I had fabulous pancakes with banana, honey and cinnamon. Walking out, one of the waiters asked husband where we lived. He replied in Maadi. He then said something like, ‘No walking anywhere tonight. In all Egypt’. We smiled and walked out thinking ‘What is he on about?’ Moments later, it was now dusk, an American couple asked if we knew there was a curfew. We replied to the contrary. They told us it was from 6 pm and they were heading back to their apartment. We had about 20 mins to head back to ours. We abandoned our food shopping plan and headed straight back. Everyone seemed to be walking with more urgency and the security guards at the wealthier buildings seemed more alert, not their usual docile leaning selves. As we entered our street, our laundrette boss was heading away. He told us no walking now. His friend clarified it was until 7 am. We got back to the apartment and rang my mother to reassure her we were OK but the curfew was now on. That evening, we barely took our eyes off the screen. We realised what brave people the Egyptians were fast becoming. They were overcoming the thuggish security forces, protecting the Cairo Museum after some initial damage and seemed now determined with an astonishing momentum to fight for a better country for themselves. It was difficult not to feel pride for them amidst the gun fire which we heard occasionally from our apartment. Our esteemed landlord Captain O phoned us to check all was well. He hoped the protest would lead to a better Egypt. We agreed. That night, we went to bed knowing we were in a different county to the Egypt we had woken up to.
Saturday 29 Jan
We left the house relatively early to walk down famed Road 9. Nothing seemed to be too much out of the ordinary. As we walked past Cafe Greco, I heard my name called out. It was one of my colleagues. It was so good to see them. We shared land line numbers and our previous evening’s experience. They seemed to have had a worse deal with much more gun fire being heard. Sensibly, they were joining forces and not staying in apartments alone. Reassured that we would now all keep in touch more, we walked to get food fearing panic buying. Fortunately, the supermarket was not busy and we got what we would normally buy for the week, including vegetables from our very cheery multilingual green grocer in his sand coloured galabiyya. He was all smiles and full of cheer. Clearly, a burgeoning revolution was not bothering him. However, husband overheard from an American that all the ATM’s were out of service. That was worrying. We had enough cash for maybe four five days at most. On the taxi ride back, we noticed less traffic, but Maadi seemed to be attempting to carry on as normal.
Once home, we rang the Barries to check they were OK as they were on the other side of town. They seemed to be. The Sudanese residence had emptied and they had heard much more gunfire, but they were fine. Shortly afterwards, another member of staff called to say that school would be shut for two days. It was no surprise. Switching on our news again, it was clear the Police and Security Services had cleared off (where?). The Army had moved in and was seen as joining the demonstrators. We regularly looked out of our window to see if we could spy tanks or such like, but nothing could be seen. Early evening, we were leaning out of the window, just watching the random action in our street, when we noticed two young men greet each other with kisses on the cheek as is the custom. Then alarmingly, we noticed one was holding a huge baseball bat. His friend picked his up from behind a car. Shortly afterwards, we saw another boy with a crow bar. Husband felt very unsettled at this point. I felt less so. They were clearly local. Casually well dressed and groomed. They seemed in good spirits. Moments later, we saw a woman talking to them and one was taking her shopping into an adjoining building. Our esteemed landlord Captain O called again as husband got increasingly jittery. He told us the boys were likely to be protecting the street and the building that evening as the Police were no longer responsible for security now. This did not comfort either of us. As dusk was beginning to set, I noticed the teenage boys making petrol bombs. This was particularly unsettling. Where were they going to throw these? Our street was cut off with the sand covered crater at one end and there were parked cars all along the road. Not the smartest thing. Fortunately, they removed them from the middle of the road and sat them in a mini sand pit opposite the apartments. On the news, rumours of looting and prison breakouts started to be circulated. Night fell, and we noticed more activity on street level. It seemed all able bodied men were out there, of all ages. Many carried a weapon of some description. There were also guns to be seen. Shot guns and at one point to my amazement and amusement, an old man came walking briskly down the street, in a dressing gown, wielding a shot gun!!! This was clearly going to be a long night. Husband at this stage, had gone downstairs to try and find out what was going on. He came back with a realisation that a street squad was being formed. There were the Korean boys from the building out there, one a young teenager and the other maybe 10/11 years old. They were there with ‘weapons’. The older one showed off some Kendo moves and, in spite of being rather chubby, looked quite adept. Husband wondered what he could arm himself with. I suggested my hiking stick which would be far better I decided than a broom handle! Whilst he intermittently joined the Squad, I invited my South African neighbour down for a chat. We talked about the surreal day and shared a strong G&T. We laughed over various observations, concluding it would have to be a kamikaze prisoner who would dare come near our street. From her apartment above, she had observed a fire at the distant prison and said, we may well see some inmates from there. After she left to get her home ready for some pals coming to stay for company, I went to bed, fully dressed, with my shoes ready at the foot of the bed. Husband had said be ready to leave in case the building caught on fire! I woke up to noise a few hours later and looking out of the window, I noticed a group of the older men, sitting around on dining chairs, watching TV and drinking tea. Clearly, they were settling in. I returned to my slumber. Hours later, I was startled awake by what sounded fireworks! I looked out of the window and saw the men on the street running from end of the road to the other looking way above our building. They looked alarmed. I went to the small bedroom window which overlooked the flyover. I heard crackling shots and at regular intervals in the sky, I saw red flares. These apparently were tracer bullets. This carried on for a few minutes. When this stopped, I went back to bed. I no longer recall what time husband came to bed. It transpired it was about 4 am. It had been an eventful night, mostly filled with gunfire. It remained unclear at the time whether it was ‘friendly’ fire or not. This had added to the tension on the street that night, although it later transpired that it was mainly the Army making its presence felt rather than real gun battles taking place. There was even a chase with a couple of escaped prisoners. They were rounded up and handed over to the Army, probably wishing they had stayed in prison rather than end up being pursued by dozens of excitable machete and baseball bat wielding young men! Husband was exhausted on his return but felt a great camaraderie amongst the group. They welcomed him joining in and as quite a few spoke English, he discovered their views and opinions on the events sweeping their country. Many were liberal and moderate and although they sympathised with the protests accepted Mubarak need not go and a peaceful transition could be brokered with the newly appointed Vice President. These were educated and affluent people who did not want to live in a Praetorian State, but wanted better for all in their country. How any of it could be achieved remained to be seen.
Sunday 30 January
8 am - I got a call from the colleague who asked how we were and if we had any plans to leave. I replied feeling a bit groggy that we had none. Neither had he at that point and we left it at that. An hour or so later, there was another call from another colleague. She posed the same question as the school would be shut ‘indefinitely’. This worried me. She was making enquiries with friends and family to get a ticket out. We could do the same. I was thinking, maybe we should at least ask around.
Later that morning, we set off for a walk to Road 9, bearing in mind the new curfew was at 2 pm. There were certainly less folk about, but the fruit and vegetables stores were open. Other shops were shut. Costa looked initially like it had been vandalised, but, but the black big bags taped to the windows were only to prevent those looking in. Bread and milk were out at our supermarket, and the ex pats seemed to be buying up any booze at another small supermarket! We called into my Head’s house to catch him on the phone. A few colleagues were there and we exchanged our experiences. Quite a few staff had booked to leave but we had no plans to at that stage. We did not fear for our safety and decided to take one day at a time.
As curfew hour approached, the Street Squad were back. Not as great in numbers, but still there. Husband joined them later in the evening. I went to see my South African neighbour again. She was now hostess to two pals, who had felt genuinely terrified the night before. They did not have the benefit of a street squad living overlooking a square and with a flat on the first floor, all noise seemed to be threatening. They were unsure of leaving or staying. As a gay couple, with one being Egyptian, it was going to be difficult for the non expat to leave. We enjoyed a good chat, considered possibilities, played with options and I sank two glasses of South African wine! That night I slept better. Husband was again out on the street with the Boys whom he now felt had become friends. It was fairly cold outside, so the assembled company had built a fire at the end of the road and were seated on concrete blocks having a very sociable time. There was one guy he particularly enjoyed talking to; Abdul, from the plush villa compound at the end of the street, a talented and multilingual American-Egyptian hospitality consultant whose livelihood was now threatened and who carried an alarmingly lethal Magnum pistol under his shirt just in case of trouble. By all accounts, I said he should be the new foreign policy minister. Two of the younger men, Omar and Mohammed, were the sons of a doctor who lives with his family in our block and who is also an MP in Mubarak’s NDP party. Although they sympathised with the protesters they certainly believed that Mubarak should hang on to prevent instability. They enjoyed chiding Abdul for his American connections but it was all very good natured. There was also a lot of banter about the general Egyptian paranoia towards Israel. Although it must be said that none of those present had any affection for Israel, they did not like the rumours being spread by the regime that Israeli spies were on the loose everywhere stirring things up.
Husband also commented how generous and kind the younger men were with each other and how warmly they looked after the kids on the streets. They were slightly concerned about the Korean boys remaining on the street after dark after as they rightly thought that it was not a situation for kids. However, the Korean father seemed to think that his kids being on the street at night with bullets flying around was nothing to be concerned about, so the kids stayed out until the small hours when they got too tired. This was clearly not an ASBO society. We tried to work out if it was just the absence of alcohol, but it was deeper rooted than that. They were good Muslims who did not understand the concept of being anti social or disrespectful without good cause. Our admiration for those who were looking after us grew daily.
Monday 31 January
Husband got a call from his school his salary would be paid in cash that day. That would see us through for a good while should we stay. I went to the Head’s house to help ring parents and tell them the school would be shut until further notice. All were pleased to be informed but it was clearly many were planning to leave. I discovered a few more colleagues had planned to go, but we remained undecided. We had enough food for now, enough money and did not feel in danger. We would see. Cafe Greco was busy and even buzzing as I went for chai with the Barries. They at this point had no plans to leave. If they did, it would be to the south of the country. We could join them if we wanted. I thanked them for the offer.
There were no major developments on the news that evening apart from a call for a Million Man March to gather in Tahrir Square the following day. The plan it seemed was to March to the Presidential Palace. This perhaps would be the deciding event.
That afternoon, I received a call which really unsettled me. We were told by a colleague who had it on good authority that our water supplies could be cut off that night and he anticipated electricity may follow. That was my tipping point. I loathed the thought of no water and no power! Husband was not initially keen to leave. He had all sorts of reservations. He was exhausted with the late nights. He did not want to leave the apartment, had no idea when we might be able to come back. I reassured him that we were in a block where many now knew us. We had always had good neighbours. They would look after our place. In any other circumstances, we’d not think twice about leaving the place for three four weeks at a time and in the summer up to 7 weeks! I was not prepared to go through the stress of trying to cope with no water and electricity! It was decided. I called Murielle and started setting up the exodus. She was astonishing in thoroughness. Flights were booked for Wednesday over a few phone calls. That evening, airport hotel was also booked. Husband would come with me and maybe come back earlier if his school reopened properly. Mine was sure to be shut for two weeks. I rang the Head to tell him our plans. He was entirely sympathetic. He had said he would pick up faxes with flight confirmations as the airport was apparently not allowing entries to travellers without flight details. I asked him to pick up ours. Clearly too many were hanging around waiting for standbys. We would collect the fax from him the following day. After all the conversations, I felt better. There was certainly a sense of panic trying to get on flights around the curfew, but I felt it had been done all thanks to a true friend who went out of her way to get things sorted for me during her work day.
That evening husband returned to the street Squad, but it was much quieter. Still no police on the streets, but all seemed calm. It was particularly cold and windy that night and this doubtless helped to keep things quiet.
Tuesday 1 Feb
The Million Man March was meant to be taking place but as we switched on the TV at about 10am, it seemed people were still gathering. There was certainly expectation in the air. What would the Army do? They had not acted against the protesters but at the same time, they had continued to protect the hated President. This was serious sitting on the fence. The outcome of this revolution would hinge on the role they decided to take. We wondered if there would be a military coup. Would they volunteer to lead the country through the transition? They were certainly loved and respected by the populace. What was happening behind the scenes with them?
We took another walk down Road 9, collected our faxes from the head and went back via the supermarket. They were getting a delivery of groceries. Our vegetable man seemed fully stocked. Since their supplies came in locally, and roads were not shut, supplies were getting through. It seemed serious food shortages would not be an issue.
The Internet was still out for the fifth day and texts could not be sent. I regularly turned on the taps but water supply seemed to still be on. We had bottles filled in readiness and buckets and large saucepans. I started to pack and looked forward to seeing my mum whom I had not seen for nearly six months. Maybe we might be able to catch up with some friends too. It would be short notice, but we’d see. I decided to take gifts I had been collecting from them in any case.
The numbers in Tahrir swelled. They trickled in throughout the day, peacefully and almost joyously. There was now in excess of one million. The call had been made and heard. At one point, I saw them all praying, bowing in unison as they had done at prayer times over the past four days. There was a fear in the West that it was an Islamic Revolution. My husband and I agreed, in a lot of ways it was, but not in the way the West perceived Islam as a violent and terrifying faith. The Sea of Faithfuls was Islam at its best. This was a generous, giving unifying mass, with respect for each other and a shared vision of a land free from tyranny and fear. We could not imagine a gathering of such magnitude anywhere in the world without it descending into chaos and violent chaos at that. But this revolution, although the majority were Islamic, was not simply about one group of people. It encompassed the Coptic Christians, and that day, Egyptians of all ages, creeds, backgrounds and circumstances coming together with one voice. It was a privilege to be even watching it and more so, to bear witness in their country. Never again in my life will I see anything as humbling again.
That evening they marched nowhere. It seemed Marching to Liberation Square was enough to show their zeal. That night they did their Nation proud and earned their place in the history of civilisation.
Wed 2 February
Nader, our wonderful airport driver arrived nearly an hour early. We were baffled why this happened. I almost feared he knew something about the road conditions we didn’t! He always arrived early, but by an hour?! We hurriedly finished our packing and took spare food to Linda, our favourite South African who had offered to look after the apartment for us.
The road out of Maadi seemed oddly ‘normal’. Nader came in a different car as his had been well and truly bashed in! His driver got us safely to the airport passing many tanks which seemed happily idle. Let’s face it, the country was not at war!
Once at the airport, I became nervous. It looked busier than normal with too many people hanging around. We had taken snacks and water in case there were queues and we knew until we got to departures, there was nowhere to buy food, which would very likely be sold out! We showed our booking print outs as we went into the building. They were checked. They were checked again as our baggage went through security. There then seemed to be some confusion about checking in. Husband found out we had to check in with BMI even though the flight code was for Egyptair. The man at the desk checked us in straight away even though we were four hours early. I asked him if there was an earlier flight. He replied, ‘Your flight is the only one. It’s leaving at 2pm as there is a curfew and there won’t be any staff later!!!’ It seemed like Providence that Nader had come early. The flight was nearly full! We could not believe it. An earlier flight? Unheard of! There were perks to a revolution. We went through to departures and were airborne by 2.20pm. Within two hours of arriving, we were leaving Egypt.
As I watched the desert landscape beneath us, stretching way into the horizon, I thought of the words, ‘the darkest hour comes before dawn’. I felt an immense sadness leaving. In my heart of hearts, I wanted to be with the Egyptians when that dawn of Freedom as they wished it came for them....Inshallah.
