Do you remember my latest thread?
I've posted it on January 25. I said there that "I'm going to the Middle East for one month" and I asked about the speed of internet over there. Actually, I was going to Egypt!
After the Tunisian revolution, I knew that a major event would happen in Egypt that would change the course of history in that area (maybe the whole world), so as a delegate of The Alliance of Youth Movements (AYM), I prepared myself and went to participate in the event.
I was next to Chris Hondros when he took this picture.
I recorded 2 million Egyptians singing this nice song. It was like the revolution's anthem.
On Thursday, I arrived at Tahrir Square a little later than normal. As the hours passed the crowds swelled incredibly to even larger than they were two days before on Tuesday. As more people came the chants and drumming grew louder, the mood more festive, as everyone waited for what we thought was the inevitable moment when Mubarak would come on television and resign. "He's already in Germany," at least half a dozen people mused.
The first communique of the armed forces high command only heightened the sense of expectation, and in the apartment where I was hanging out not far from the square, people were glued to Al Jazeera Arabic, taking pictures, hugging each other, calling family and friends. The mood moved to what a Beatles reunion would have felt like if all four members were still alive.
To pass the time I searched the square for one of my Egyptian friends. While I was looking for him, finally, sometime after 10, Mubarak appeared. A roar went up that was so loud I thought it would burst my ear drums. This was the moment everyone had waited for, had lived in the square for days, if not weeks, for. And then it all disappeared like a burst balloon.
It is hard to imagine the feeling of hundreds of thousands of people having their hopes crushed in the space of eight minutes. For the first few minutes, Mubarak's words were merely confusing. No one understood what he was getting at. People were shouting and gesticulating for him to hurry up and finish so that the party could start.
But then he got to the point: I'm not going anywhere, I won't meet your demands, and I dare you to come and get me. The blood ran out of everyone's faces. Smiles turned to twisted rage. Tears of joy became tears of anger, sadness and rage all at once, and then, much more quickly than I would have anticipated, the rage and anger turned to resignation. People hugged each other and got down to work. What do we do now? What is the next step? How do we proceed? "I'm lost," a friend declared. "What more can we do? This is very bad because many people might now see violence as the only way to get rid of him."
As we entered the square on Friday, it was time for the noon prayer. The square was already as packed as on Tuesday. It was almost impossible to move. As we talked past an overflowing mosque along the side of the square, an imam who was leading prayer outside for the thousands of worshippers who couldn't get inside was preaching about remaining peaceful. My friend was moved: "This is what Islam should be, what the true Islam is, finally coming out in Egypt." As we walked past another group praying, we caught sight of a man standing on top of a lamp post at least 60 feet in the air, prostrating in prayer. It was amazing. One false move and he'd fall to his certain death. But he completed his prayers without missing a beat, as did at least three to four hundred thousand fellow worshippers.
The second prayers were done the chanting began. It was so loud and furious, but still peaceful. People seem determined not to lose the spirit of nonviolence.
We were in a waiting phase. Few hours later, I went to an apartment used by activists and journalists as a safe house and place to debrief and meet up. The mother of Khaled Said, the 28-year-old Egyptian who died in police custody on an Alexandria street last year, arrived.
Al Jazeera, as usual, was blasting in the background, seemingly the usual filler as there was nothing much to report. Suddenly there were screams of joy, sheer joy, and everyone ran for the terrace. Within about ten seconds, somehow, the entire square knew what had happened: The Pharaoh was gone. Everyone started to weep; it didn't matter what country you were from. Suddenly this wasn't just Egypt's revolution, it was the world's, or at least ours, who had been there for all the days and weeks leading up to it.
People in the apartment surrounded Said's mother, she was crying tears of joy while hugging a pillow with his picture embroidered on it. Right away we headed down to the square and as soon as we left the building confronted a tank on which at least two dozen people were standing with the soldiers, shouting and singing and waving Egyptian flags. It was almost impossible to move. I suppose this was what the liberation of Paris must have felt like.
We have been in the square for a couple of hours. Everyone is hugging. A deaf man grabbed me and signed to me the history of the last day. I don't know sign language but I knew exactly what he meant. He shook my hand and moved on. The happiest people are definitely the tent people. It is hard to conceive of their sacrifice, even when you've spent nights in the square. They have lived this revolution, and in a very real sense it is theirs. But if the rest of the world is smart, they will claim it too, before it loses momentum. As several people said to me, in reality, the revolution has just begun.
Last edited by ahibba (2011 February 13, 3:21 pm)
