Monday, February 7, 2011
Out of Africa
A friend of mine remarked to me that though everyone claims it's a small world, he feels the world is incomprehensibly large. I write today from Bangkok, Thailand, and though I've just arrived, my life in Cairo, Egypt already seems worlds apart. Many thoughts melted across my mind, the way coconut milk slides across sliced mango, as I made my way from one continent to another. As I left my Cairene apartment on a rare misty morning only yesterday, I hoped desperately that though a luggage-bearing foreigner, Egyptians would not think I was just another tourist fleeing an "unstable" country. I wanted to tell anyone who saw me that morning that I was not running away after broken promises of Nile cruises or other scheduled tours. I was different, I was one of you. But the truth was I was packing up and leaving, just like any other tourist. As I paced the Bahrain airport during an uncomfortable lay over, I could not seem to shake the feeling. I wasn't prepared to be yet another tourist on a tropical holiday. I had witnessed something, something that changed me. Yet here I am, relaxing in a hostel that is a virtual zen paradise, the aromas of famed street food already wafting away the memories of revolutions past. Still, I console myself in realizing that no matter what happens next, I will recall with great fondness a time when my friends and I gathered and discussed our lives and our new country's future. For we were revolutionaries once.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Revolution and Humanity III
The views on the protests I have expressed thus far have been positive. Parents and friends wondered why I was refusing to leave Egypt. I told them that I felt I had to be here for this historic moment, and that my understanding of conflicts, governments, and international relations grew by the minute. That said, after yesterday's experience, I fear that like a sneaker wave upon a shore, the open window of observation will soon be shut.
Since the violence on Wednesday, the attitude towards foreigners has changed dramatically. Before we were greeted with amusement and gratitude. Now, it is hard to walk more than half a block without being stopped by army checkpoints or gangs of young men. Foreigners are now met with suspicion. Cameras used to be embraced, Egyptians asked to have their pictures taken with signs written in both Arabic and English. Now, any camera equipment inspires accusations of journalist. Moving around the city has become difficult, especially downtown. Tuesday evening, on my way home in a cab, all I had to do was make eye contact with any civilian or soldier running the checkpoints. Seeing I was a young, American girl they would just wave our car through. Now, barely 48 hours later, when they spot me in a cab, the car is pulled over, searched thoroughly and my passport is checked. How quickly things change.
My expat friends and I had loyally decided to wait out the revolution and return to our daily lives here in Cairo once the dust settled. We realized last night in somber tones however, that it was time to leave. In melancholy glances, we saw mirror images of unspoken thoughts. What troubles us most is that there is no way to know whether or not we will be able to come back. It is hard to walk away from a situation in which we were so emotionally involved, not knowing if we will all be back in two weeks or if this is in fact goodbye.
Since the violence on Wednesday, the attitude towards foreigners has changed dramatically. Before we were greeted with amusement and gratitude. Now, it is hard to walk more than half a block without being stopped by army checkpoints or gangs of young men. Foreigners are now met with suspicion. Cameras used to be embraced, Egyptians asked to have their pictures taken with signs written in both Arabic and English. Now, any camera equipment inspires accusations of journalist. Moving around the city has become difficult, especially downtown. Tuesday evening, on my way home in a cab, all I had to do was make eye contact with any civilian or soldier running the checkpoints. Seeing I was a young, American girl they would just wave our car through. Now, barely 48 hours later, when they spot me in a cab, the car is pulled over, searched thoroughly and my passport is checked. How quickly things change.
My expat friends and I had loyally decided to wait out the revolution and return to our daily lives here in Cairo once the dust settled. We realized last night in somber tones however, that it was time to leave. In melancholy glances, we saw mirror images of unspoken thoughts. What troubles us most is that there is no way to know whether or not we will be able to come back. It is hard to walk away from a situation in which we were so emotionally involved, not knowing if we will all be back in two weeks or if this is in fact goodbye.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Revolution and Humanity II
As promised, I am doing my best to provide snapshots of the last few days. My first and second visits to Tahrir square since the protests began left a profound impression on me.
Monday, January 31: It's true what they say, Tahrir did have the vibe of a music festival, an acoustic guitar would not seem out of place. For all the unrest and world-wide media coverage swirling around the square, it was surprising to find that the epicenter was relaxed and peaceful. My friends had established a meeting spot near a statue in front of the city's notorious bureaucratic headquarters. More than one person mused as to why that building had not been burned or even fired upon by the army, the general fear though was that if attacked, the building would demand, as it always does, days of mind-numbing paperwork. We strolled through the protesters, reading signs, taking pictures and exchanging a few words. As with most Egyptian scenes there was a sense of impromptu organization - families arranged picnics and men organized themselves for the evening call to prayer.
Surrounding the square there were many restaurants boasting maybe equally shocking scenes in the country's capital: single file lines. We stared in awe as men waited patiently one behind the other and even instructed newcomers that yes this was indeed a line and that they would have to step in back. We strolled a little while longer and paused again to listen to music flow through the streets like cherry syrup on summer's first snow cone. We left the square that evening feeling confident, inspired, and generally relaxed.
Tuesday, February 1: This was the day of the million member march, so labeled by the April 6 Movement. The mood downtown was decidedly more tense, but this tension seemed to only settle just around the square, with the inside's peace and beauty still preserved. Entering Tahrir was by far the hardest part of my day. As we drew closer we were pushed into a large crowd funneled through civilian checkpoints. They were checking ID's - more to see if you had one - because it was impossible to apply any specific scrutiny as the masses moved past. I held a photo copy of my passport above my head and did my best to inch through while drawing as little attention as possible. This plan largely failed because they would insist at points that the men and women separate. Women were given more space and could meet their men at the end of the road. With my group of friends being all guys however, I often chose to stay amongst the crowded hoard. Luckily, two tall Egyptian men adopted us. They were instantly protective for two reasons. First, they appreciated us coming to witness these protests and wanted to make sure we understood the situation so that we could spread the word back home. Second, they were, understandably, trying to avoid the situation of an injured American. If one of us were hurt, it would create an international incident unlikely to bode well for Egyptians.
Once in the square, it was again peaceful and jovial. We camped out at our spot, where many many Egyptians came to thank us for simply being there. I was humbled by their gratitude and could only ever manage a meager "your welcome." As Americans, our presence was largely embraced that day. In the evening, we sent out a search party to bring back food. We laughed and talked as we shared pizza and fateer on the hallowed bricks of the country's revolutionary headquarters. As per the custom, when we had our fill we offered any leftovers to people nearby. Then they too laughed and talked and enjoyed their pizza. On my way out that evening, I even saw a make shift tea shop. Men huddled around collecting cups of tea for their families and friends. I left for a second day in a row with a feeling of warmth and confidence in the Egyptian people.
Monday, January 31: It's true what they say, Tahrir did have the vibe of a music festival, an acoustic guitar would not seem out of place. For all the unrest and world-wide media coverage swirling around the square, it was surprising to find that the epicenter was relaxed and peaceful. My friends had established a meeting spot near a statue in front of the city's notorious bureaucratic headquarters. More than one person mused as to why that building had not been burned or even fired upon by the army, the general fear though was that if attacked, the building would demand, as it always does, days of mind-numbing paperwork. We strolled through the protesters, reading signs, taking pictures and exchanging a few words. As with most Egyptian scenes there was a sense of impromptu organization - families arranged picnics and men organized themselves for the evening call to prayer.
Surrounding the square there were many restaurants boasting maybe equally shocking scenes in the country's capital: single file lines. We stared in awe as men waited patiently one behind the other and even instructed newcomers that yes this was indeed a line and that they would have to step in back. We strolled a little while longer and paused again to listen to music flow through the streets like cherry syrup on summer's first snow cone. We left the square that evening feeling confident, inspired, and generally relaxed.
Tuesday, February 1: This was the day of the million member march, so labeled by the April 6 Movement. The mood downtown was decidedly more tense, but this tension seemed to only settle just around the square, with the inside's peace and beauty still preserved. Entering Tahrir was by far the hardest part of my day. As we drew closer we were pushed into a large crowd funneled through civilian checkpoints. They were checking ID's - more to see if you had one - because it was impossible to apply any specific scrutiny as the masses moved past. I held a photo copy of my passport above my head and did my best to inch through while drawing as little attention as possible. This plan largely failed because they would insist at points that the men and women separate. Women were given more space and could meet their men at the end of the road. With my group of friends being all guys however, I often chose to stay amongst the crowded hoard. Luckily, two tall Egyptian men adopted us. They were instantly protective for two reasons. First, they appreciated us coming to witness these protests and wanted to make sure we understood the situation so that we could spread the word back home. Second, they were, understandably, trying to avoid the situation of an injured American. If one of us were hurt, it would create an international incident unlikely to bode well for Egyptians.
Once in the square, it was again peaceful and jovial. We camped out at our spot, where many many Egyptians came to thank us for simply being there. I was humbled by their gratitude and could only ever manage a meager "your welcome." As Americans, our presence was largely embraced that day. In the evening, we sent out a search party to bring back food. We laughed and talked as we shared pizza and fateer on the hallowed bricks of the country's revolutionary headquarters. As per the custom, when we had our fill we offered any leftovers to people nearby. Then they too laughed and talked and enjoyed their pizza. On my way out that evening, I even saw a make shift tea shop. Men huddled around collecting cups of tea for their families and friends. I left for a second day in a row with a feeling of warmth and confidence in the Egyptian people.
Revolution and Humanity
It's hard to know where to start with this post. My experience in the last few days has been incredible. As an earlier post indicates I found myself questioning my role in what is an intimate moment for Egypt. After getting over the initial blush however, I have immersed myself in this historic movement (still as a spectator) and shared in the experience with the Egyptian people. Here I will offer you snapshots of the past few days.
Friday, January 28: What I noticed first was the sunlight. The streets were eerily quiet as rows of riot police cordoned them off. We walked down the naked streets, usually clothed with throngs of people, into rays of sunlight. Somehow, in all my daydreams of revolutions, I never pictured it to be sunny. These romantic ponderings however were decisively interrupted when after turning the corner down a back street we were hit with an invisible wall of tear gas. This was my first encounter with the misty weapon, but it would not, as the day promised, be my last. We paused and watched as protesters halted their cries in order to observe the afternoon prayer. We took advantage of this moment of calm to cross underneath the 6th October Bridge in downtown Cairo. This required that we snake our way through burning tires and burning police cars. While not unfamiliar to pollution, this smoke burned the sky with fumes of self-determination and necessary change.
We then met a crowd of protesters. Some paused and asked us what we thought of the movement. They smiled that endearing Egyptian smile when we told them that what we were witnessing was nothing short of beautiful. Smiles faded however when my friends and I and the Egyptian protesters found ourselves trapped in front of the Ramses Hilton hemmed in by the police's weapon of cowardice and fear. What protruded from that dark backdrop of danger and violence however, was the shining star of Egyptian community. I cannot count the number of Egyptians who approached me offering me water, onions, vinegar, or even a kind word. I witnessed one man lighting a police post on fire. His fellow protesters however stopped him immediately and made him put out the fire. When the hotel fired a rubber bullet in to the crowd out of desperation the crowd chanted, "peacefully, peacefully." As night began to fall we drove home in a taxi. As Cairo burned behind me, I couldn't help but feel the warmth of the Egyptian people. Despite all the ugly chaos spurred by the police and their commander, what ideals were manifested by Egyptians that day were only the most beautiful.
Friday, January 28: What I noticed first was the sunlight. The streets were eerily quiet as rows of riot police cordoned them off. We walked down the naked streets, usually clothed with throngs of people, into rays of sunlight. Somehow, in all my daydreams of revolutions, I never pictured it to be sunny. These romantic ponderings however were decisively interrupted when after turning the corner down a back street we were hit with an invisible wall of tear gas. This was my first encounter with the misty weapon, but it would not, as the day promised, be my last. We paused and watched as protesters halted their cries in order to observe the afternoon prayer. We took advantage of this moment of calm to cross underneath the 6th October Bridge in downtown Cairo. This required that we snake our way through burning tires and burning police cars. While not unfamiliar to pollution, this smoke burned the sky with fumes of self-determination and necessary change.
We then met a crowd of protesters. Some paused and asked us what we thought of the movement. They smiled that endearing Egyptian smile when we told them that what we were witnessing was nothing short of beautiful. Smiles faded however when my friends and I and the Egyptian protesters found ourselves trapped in front of the Ramses Hilton hemmed in by the police's weapon of cowardice and fear. What protruded from that dark backdrop of danger and violence however, was the shining star of Egyptian community. I cannot count the number of Egyptians who approached me offering me water, onions, vinegar, or even a kind word. I witnessed one man lighting a police post on fire. His fellow protesters however stopped him immediately and made him put out the fire. When the hotel fired a rubber bullet in to the crowd out of desperation the crowd chanted, "peacefully, peacefully." As night began to fall we drove home in a taxi. As Cairo burned behind me, I couldn't help but feel the warmth of the Egyptian people. Despite all the ugly chaos spurred by the police and their commander, what ideals were manifested by Egyptians that day were only the most beautiful.
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