I got my chance to celebrate Egypt's freedom. That longing to be part of home was fulfilled by the dancing and singing with fellow Egyptian expatriates in Trafalgar Square. The revolution had awakened a national pride that I had not had before. It was a cold day, but the sun was shining. It felt like the sun would shine on Egypt from now on.
No longer able to delay my trip to Egypt, I caught the next Egypt Air flight and arrived in Cairo on Sunday 13th of February. It felt like a spiritual pilgrimage, that I needed to take. I'm not quite sure why an obsession had over-taken me during the period of the revolution. I felt I needed to go to Egypt and to be part of it. I didn't make it back in time, instead I expressed my support for the protest from London, all the while feeling like a bit of an exile.
I put my life on hold for the entire period as probably every other Egyptian expatriate did; glued to the television, to Facebook, Twitter or protesting outside the Egyptian embassy. I was part of the community abroad obsessed with developments in Egypt. I'm sure my political awareness peaked dramatically in that phase. The only entries on Facebook were related to Egypt. Political discussions ensued for the full period, some were in the pro demonstration camp and others were in the pro stability camp. Some pro stability supporters felt that the expatriate community had no right to encourage demonstrators to go out on the streets as we were not out in the streets ourselves. Some of these Facebook debates ended in friendships breaking up. People's sensitivities were heightened.
I always felt I was showing solidarity with the greater cause. The demonstrators had made up their own minds to take to the streets. Would I have gone? It's difficult to answer this question in a theoretical framework. Perhaps I would have been crippled by fear from the violent backlash and perhaps I would have overcome my fear. It's simply impossible to answer this question. I do feel I would have joined the march, but not knowing what I would have done, I did what I could from London.
All that time I was acutely aware of the fact that I was involved with the cause from the comfort of my Western home. I couldn't possibly appreciate what Egyptians had experienced. That's one of the reasons why I wanted to experience it there. I finally decided to go to Egypt after the revolution, to witness things for myself.
When I finally landed at Cairo International Airport, I soon realised how removed I'd been from what had happened. I noticed on my way home, that Egypt was pretty much back to normal. If you had not known that a revolution had taken place a few days earlier, you would have been none the wiser. I'd arrived with sensational images of a city in a state of battle, burned into my mind, thanks to coverage by BBC and Al Jazeera. But instead there was a calm, albeit an unsettling calm. The only noticeable difference was the relatively empty flight and a fairly quiet airport. It wasn't bustling the way I'd left it a few weeks earlier. I'd left Cairo on January 24th only a day before the January 25th uprising.
My first conversation with a fellow Egyptian was with a taxi driver on my way home. He told me he hadn't taken part in the demonstrations. He didn't have time for that type of thing. He told me he'd felt bad for the way Mubarak had been humiliated and how he'd been let down by his son Gamal who'd started the corruption. I left my opinion to myself. Although admittedly, having grown up with Mubarak as the country's 'partron', I'd also felt sorry for him for a second. I'd sensed he was a broken man and for a minute I'd forgotten who he really was.
I later met with my neighbour who gave me the key to our flat. My family was away and they'd left the key with him. My neighbour had been a part of the neighbourhood watch that had protected our area. The stories he told me made me realise even more how much I'd missed over the past 18 days. I'd missed a whole significant chapter in Egypt's history. It felt like I'd gone out during the interlude to get a drink and come back to realise I'd missed the central part of the play.
Hearing the tales of my neighbours who'd formed communities to protect their neighbourhoods from looters and criminals who'd broken out of prisons during the uprising, felt like listening to the plot of a film. They had a whole organised system going on, armed with guns, walkie talkies and symbols to identify their neighbourhood community. No one could get past their barricades, if not part of the same street or area. I'd heard all of this during telephone conversations with a friend in Cairo, but even then I couldn't really imagine what it felt like to live in fear. This was the other side of the story, that I'd seen hardly any coverage of during the 18 days of the revolt.
I felt I needed to make contact with a supporter of the protest in Egypt, and so I met with a friend of mine, who'd actively demonstrated in Tahrir Square, to discuss my grievances as an expatriate who had supported the protest from abroad and had experienced a backlash from the pro stability camp. He told me protestors in Tahrir appreciated the international support. It helped keep the momentum going. It was nice to hear that view. I realise now, everyone had their own personal experience and view during the revolution and I'd done the right thing by continuing my support for the cause no matter what critique I had experienced.
Next day, Monday 14th Feb, I finally went to Tahrir Square. Seeing tanks and soldiers patrolling the streets was a surreal experience. It reminded me that a revolution had really taken place. On every corner street vendors were selling Egyptian flags. Others were walking around waving their Egyptian flags proudly. The smell of baked batatas was in the air and nearby I saw some candy floss and milk rice puddings. I saw memorials with flowers and people crowded around them. I saw people moving around with a sense of urgency, as if on their way to the next ride in a game park. Some were taking photos with soldiers in front of their tanks. I secretly wanted to climb on top of one of the tanks and to be photographed as well. There was excitement in the air and I felt like I was on my way to a concert.
I saw a plant with people's notes hanging off it. It looked like a Christmas tree with children's wish lists, but I later realised it was people's thoughts on handwritten notes. Perhaps these were the dreams of those that had given up so much for our freedom.
The demonstrators had been moved off earlier on in the day by the army, and there were few protestors left. Camp Tahrir had sadly disappeared into oblivion, to be remembered later through thousands of photos and video recordings taken during this world changing moment. Anti Mubarak slogans had been painted over, perhaps a final gesture to cover-up the humiliating exit of Mubarak. I wished these slogans could have remained, to serve as a visible reminder of what had once been.
Youths were hanging out. Others were sweeping the streets and painting the pavements black and white euphorically. It was a symbolical moment, as they cleansed the streets from its former political corruption. Some people clumsily stepped on the freshly painted stones messing up the careful paintwork. Cars were back on the streets spinning around the square. There was a mad sense of order within this chaos. Remnants of the revolutionary days were mixed in with life's daily routines and traffic jams. Experiencing the two together was like seeing two alternate realities exist side by side. There was freedom and then there were the tanks, representing Egypt's current military rule.
The funny thing is, I'd only just been to Tahrir Square less than a month earlier. I'd passed through the square the same way I'd passed through it on any other day, without a second thought. I'd even walked by the NDP building. Little did I know, that it would soon go up in flames, a symbol of a 30 year old dictatorial regime. More importantly, little did I know that Tahrir Square would become a symbol of freedom worldwide, less than 4 weeks later.
No longer able to delay my trip to Egypt, I caught the next Egypt Air flight and arrived in Cairo on Sunday 13th of February. It felt like a spiritual pilgrimage, that I needed to take. I'm not quite sure why an obsession had over-taken me during the period of the revolution. I felt I needed to go to Egypt and to be part of it. I didn't make it back in time, instead I expressed my support for the protest from London, all the while feeling like a bit of an exile.
I put my life on hold for the entire period as probably every other Egyptian expatriate did; glued to the television, to Facebook, Twitter or protesting outside the Egyptian embassy. I was part of the community abroad obsessed with developments in Egypt. I'm sure my political awareness peaked dramatically in that phase. The only entries on Facebook were related to Egypt. Political discussions ensued for the full period, some were in the pro demonstration camp and others were in the pro stability camp. Some pro stability supporters felt that the expatriate community had no right to encourage demonstrators to go out on the streets as we were not out in the streets ourselves. Some of these Facebook debates ended in friendships breaking up. People's sensitivities were heightened.
I always felt I was showing solidarity with the greater cause. The demonstrators had made up their own minds to take to the streets. Would I have gone? It's difficult to answer this question in a theoretical framework. Perhaps I would have been crippled by fear from the violent backlash and perhaps I would have overcome my fear. It's simply impossible to answer this question. I do feel I would have joined the march, but not knowing what I would have done, I did what I could from London.
All that time I was acutely aware of the fact that I was involved with the cause from the comfort of my Western home. I couldn't possibly appreciate what Egyptians had experienced. That's one of the reasons why I wanted to experience it there. I finally decided to go to Egypt after the revolution, to witness things for myself.
When I finally landed at Cairo International Airport, I soon realised how removed I'd been from what had happened. I noticed on my way home, that Egypt was pretty much back to normal. If you had not known that a revolution had taken place a few days earlier, you would have been none the wiser. I'd arrived with sensational images of a city in a state of battle, burned into my mind, thanks to coverage by BBC and Al Jazeera. But instead there was a calm, albeit an unsettling calm. The only noticeable difference was the relatively empty flight and a fairly quiet airport. It wasn't bustling the way I'd left it a few weeks earlier. I'd left Cairo on January 24th only a day before the January 25th uprising.
My first conversation with a fellow Egyptian was with a taxi driver on my way home. He told me he hadn't taken part in the demonstrations. He didn't have time for that type of thing. He told me he'd felt bad for the way Mubarak had been humiliated and how he'd been let down by his son Gamal who'd started the corruption. I left my opinion to myself. Although admittedly, having grown up with Mubarak as the country's 'partron', I'd also felt sorry for him for a second. I'd sensed he was a broken man and for a minute I'd forgotten who he really was.
I later met with my neighbour who gave me the key to our flat. My family was away and they'd left the key with him. My neighbour had been a part of the neighbourhood watch that had protected our area. The stories he told me made me realise even more how much I'd missed over the past 18 days. I'd missed a whole significant chapter in Egypt's history. It felt like I'd gone out during the interlude to get a drink and come back to realise I'd missed the central part of the play.
Hearing the tales of my neighbours who'd formed communities to protect their neighbourhoods from looters and criminals who'd broken out of prisons during the uprising, felt like listening to the plot of a film. They had a whole organised system going on, armed with guns, walkie talkies and symbols to identify their neighbourhood community. No one could get past their barricades, if not part of the same street or area. I'd heard all of this during telephone conversations with a friend in Cairo, but even then I couldn't really imagine what it felt like to live in fear. This was the other side of the story, that I'd seen hardly any coverage of during the 18 days of the revolt.
I felt I needed to make contact with a supporter of the protest in Egypt, and so I met with a friend of mine, who'd actively demonstrated in Tahrir Square, to discuss my grievances as an expatriate who had supported the protest from abroad and had experienced a backlash from the pro stability camp. He told me protestors in Tahrir appreciated the international support. It helped keep the momentum going. It was nice to hear that view. I realise now, everyone had their own personal experience and view during the revolution and I'd done the right thing by continuing my support for the cause no matter what critique I had experienced.
Next day, Monday 14th Feb, I finally went to Tahrir Square. Seeing tanks and soldiers patrolling the streets was a surreal experience. It reminded me that a revolution had really taken place. On every corner street vendors were selling Egyptian flags. Others were walking around waving their Egyptian flags proudly. The smell of baked batatas was in the air and nearby I saw some candy floss and milk rice puddings. I saw memorials with flowers and people crowded around them. I saw people moving around with a sense of urgency, as if on their way to the next ride in a game park. Some were taking photos with soldiers in front of their tanks. I secretly wanted to climb on top of one of the tanks and to be photographed as well. There was excitement in the air and I felt like I was on my way to a concert.
I saw a plant with people's notes hanging off it. It looked like a Christmas tree with children's wish lists, but I later realised it was people's thoughts on handwritten notes. Perhaps these were the dreams of those that had given up so much for our freedom.
The demonstrators had been moved off earlier on in the day by the army, and there were few protestors left. Camp Tahrir had sadly disappeared into oblivion, to be remembered later through thousands of photos and video recordings taken during this world changing moment. Anti Mubarak slogans had been painted over, perhaps a final gesture to cover-up the humiliating exit of Mubarak. I wished these slogans could have remained, to serve as a visible reminder of what had once been.
Youths were hanging out. Others were sweeping the streets and painting the pavements black and white euphorically. It was a symbolical moment, as they cleansed the streets from its former political corruption. Some people clumsily stepped on the freshly painted stones messing up the careful paintwork. Cars were back on the streets spinning around the square. There was a mad sense of order within this chaos. Remnants of the revolutionary days were mixed in with life's daily routines and traffic jams. Experiencing the two together was like seeing two alternate realities exist side by side. There was freedom and then there were the tanks, representing Egypt's current military rule.
The funny thing is, I'd only just been to Tahrir Square less than a month earlier. I'd passed through the square the same way I'd passed through it on any other day, without a second thought. I'd even walked by the NDP building. Little did I know, that it would soon go up in flames, a symbol of a 30 year old dictatorial regime. More importantly, little did I know that Tahrir Square would become a symbol of freedom worldwide, less than 4 weeks later.
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