This revolution will be televised

Post cards in order. All ready to go. No stamps.

Pyramids on the horizon on the edge of the city, towering in the distant desert landscape that stretches just beyond Cairo to the Red Sea.

We went of course, to try our luck, and luck we had: There were no lines. Up to the ticket window

"60LE to enter"

OK. "100 for the big pyramid"

Man moves to the next window. "200"

We don't have one hundred each for two

"OK, 30 for small pyramid."

Man moves to the next window, "hello miss?"

We all start crying in laughter at the scene others wondering why

No lines.

I can't write. The atmosphere is so thick in the last 2 days, like hanging on a breath, something on the very moment of pushing, teetering, and finally, letting go to the pressure of gravity and falling

Mubarak is out off office. I wouldn’t say gone yet. The atmosphere is intense.

It is tangible

I was covered in goose bumps when we listened to the broadcast from Suleiman. We started running in circles around the apartment, cheering and not really knowing where to land.

How did I end up here, right now? There is no explanation. I could go into details how the decision came about for my departure from the states, but it really is irrelevant.

Here I am.

In the pyramids alone, one day, when the government was desperate for normalcy.

In the middle of a revolution

Sitting in the apartment with history unfolding outside the windows.

My friends are here, Journalists all of them.

BBC Brazil

Washington Post

AP

AP friend, "what do you think will happen next?"

I think the next steps are as follows:

1. Release political prisoners

2. Absolute freedom of the press

3. Elections within 60 days as designated by the constitution

4. Those in the regime responsible for crimes brought to justice including Omar Suleiman, commonly known as "the Torturer"

5….

There is so much wonder in the media what it means to have a military in charge of the country. What many are not addressing is that here, as in many other countries, Military service is mandatory (girls excluded) unless you are the only son of a family. This provides for a military that is very much representative of the people, and much closer to their dreams and desires, than say, the secret police force responsible for many crimes against humanity, unlawful arrests, killings, torture, and unlawful imprisonment of activist, intellectuals, and those that spoke ill of the president.

…

It is now morning. It is quiet in the street below the apartment. Last night there was some celebrating in our little neighborhood, but nothing like what is being shown on TV down in Tahrir Square.

I went to the corner to collect my friend from Beirut, who arrived back in Cairo with BBC Brazil. There are young people on the street outside the pub. We decide to go in for a beer. The crowd is going crazy. It is packed, thick with cigarette smoke, liberal youth, erupting in chants and cheers, sitting on shoulders, dancing on the bar and chairs, waving Egyptian flags. The curfew that has been respected by this establishment in the last days is now defied: it is 11:15 pm, curfew started technically at 8:00 pm.

We leave after a beer and return to the apartment down the street. Computers. News copy being written. Washington Post in email to my friend Londono, "can you give us an update in 30 minutes on the position of the military? What role they will play?" Asking for explanation about an unexplainable situation.

In all my years studying international relations, no one could have predicted this. How do they expect to predict what happens next? So many talking heads. Let us just focus on providing support and solidarity to the people of Egypt, bringing those responsible for crimes against humanity to proper justice, and encouraging a shift from poverty for most, to actual opportunity.

I have seen so many poor, hungry, covered in dirt. Where are they in this revolution? How long will it take to change society in general after a revolution?

I only hope that these people are not left unseen. I have a feeling that the greatest leader of Egypt to come is a small child now, sitting on the side of a road, covered in city grime, hungry, tired, and wanting comfort, that is somehow given a chance, an out, who takes the reality of that childhood and moves a nation to real change, not just political ouster and the over-throw of a repressive regime, but a beacon of compassion to the world.

I think I need to go back to bed, and make sure that this is not a dream. The news is noisy but the street is quiet. The newscasters and commentators keep repeating themselves.

The empathy I feel is so intense at moments when the news casters actually start talking about the events that have occurred, the power of this movement, those 300 who lost their lives, those injured, maimed, who sacrificed so much for this change to occur, I find myself flooded with tears. I cannot hold back. The word for martyr in Arabic Shahadah, comes from the root, to witness. Let these people be a witness to absolute change.

Time to let the future unfold.

Pictures that illustrate

If you have been reading, these photos should make sense. I did not get pictures of everything I wanted to as I was not always comfortable just whipping out my camera. But there are times that I did. I hope these images express and add to my descriptions.

Again it is almost 6:00 am and the plan is to head to the Pyramids for breakfast. Sounds so strange to say!

Anyhow, enjoy the photos. My computer is a dinosaur MAC and has no memory left, so it is hard getting pics in order: therefore, nothing has been touched up here, though I think some of them could stand to be, another reason I love that afternoon/sunset light so much!

P.S. they are in chronological order. I left out the one of the hotel room from the first night because it was just way too ugly!



Finally leaving Ahmed's apartment to head to the Gezira Sports club in the taxi








Gizera Sports Club



The terrace over looking the golf course and the polo track where we had coffee





The menagerie (minus the dogs)



The Mariott Hotel entrance
The neighbor's nightly street fire
From the balcony



Breakfast at a french cafe on the way to start the Mission!





The Lotus Hotel poster child. This boy was about 10 years old as a bell hop. He is now in his late 80's early 90's. We did not get to meet him, but I wish we had!




Just a glimpse of the Felfelah (hobbit eden!)






On the walk to Metro through down town



"ma Shad Allah" mosaic in the metro




Working horse carriage!



Cairo Tower






150 Year old Banyan Tree from Bengal





That "oops" glowing new Police academy









Walking home via detour of Cairo Tower





Same scene from the night before (it happened again last night as well. I think the neighbors are enjoying the curfew. When a car comes by, they just move the chairs out of the way. even the 3 year old was helping break up the wood for the night's ritual this evening!)


The plan is to have breakfast at the pyramids. Lets see what happens!

#Jan25 Egypt - Omar Offendum, The Narcicyst, Freeway, Ayah, Amir Sulaima...

On a Mission

February 8, 2011

During the events of last week, the police were cracking down on journalists and human rights activists. They raided many offices including the Hisham Mubarak law center. They completely sacked the place, tore up every computer, and took the hard drives and anything that seemed it might have information that implicates the government in wrongdoing. They arrested the Egyptian employees and representatives from Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch who were with them. Code Pink went to visit them the day after tossing flowers into the crowd in Tahrir (liberation) square.

Hisham Mubarak law center was providing legal help to protesters that had been arrested as well as their main work, provided legal assistance to people wrongfully arrested and victims of torture. A prime target for a repressive regime. It was obvious that the law office, was in dire need of new computers. There is only so much you can spend on flowers in Egypt. What a great use of left over flower money!

As the Code Pink delegation left early Monday morning, Rob was tasked with collecting the money and purchasing the new computers. This was the mission for the day: Go to the hotel downtown and get the cash.

We left the house sometime in early afternoon on a seemingly calm day. Walking of course because that is what we do. I wont get stuck in a cab in horrible traffic if I can walk there faster! We cross the bridge from the island of Zamalek to the East side of the Nile. What a bizarre and disorienting experience to watch a massive rushing river push its way North! It is one of the few major rivers in the world that does this. For the longest time I would get confused when someone referenced Upper Egypt: I would assume of course that this would be Northern Egypt, but in fact it is Southern Egypt relating to the altitude there. The Nile actually flows North from Southern Rwanda!

Where was I? Oh yes, the Mission. After crossing the Nile, we head into downtown. Quickly the calm becomes a storm…of traffic, congestion, noise, honking, rubbish littering the streets, people, exhaust, colors that were once bright; a thin layer of ecru colored dust engulfing everything creating a sort of sepia haze over the whole affair. Even the poor people who are left on the street are covered in the grime.

Having lived in India for 5 years as a child, I was somewhat immune to this sort of thing, but today, I quickly started to become overwhelmed and just wanted to get through this fiasco. It is an understatement to say that cars here don't stop for pedestrians: They don't even slow down when you are clearly right in front of them. I took to dashing out after young kids who clearly did this thing daily, and still I had a few near hits, but the motorcycles and scooters were even worse. One came so close to hitting me that I decided to take them out with me if the opportunity presented itself.

We dashed onto a side street to get out of the mayhem for a moment. This alley turned out to be an automobile triage of downtown Cairo. Im not talking body and mechanics shops, I am talking man sitting outside a funky storefront and carefully welding a broken component of a wheel. Men priming a paint job with a stray dog curled up fast asleep under the same car in the dirt. Broken horse-drawn carriages. The same ecru grime coating every surface. I would take this alley any day over maneuvering traffic on the main artery.

After much ado, we finally get through the mess and reach the Lotus Hotel. A grand palace compared to the streets below. I have been on the search for postcards, as I love to send people paper mail. Since most tourist destinations have been closed, I had not come across any till the lovely Lotus Hotel. While the man is fishing around for the envelope in a safe that must be 200 years old and whose contents must be even older, I thumb through the disorganized collection that I have discovered on his desk.

I am delighted to find many postcards of camels: I love camels. They have the best attitudes, "I guess I will let you silly human ride me, but cross me and I will spit in your eye." I buy about 7 such postcards for less than a pound. (This is one thing I can't sort out yet, Gineh, Pound, L.E. (lire Egyptian), Egyptian Pound, what is this money called!)

I also purchase a number of tacky papyrus bookmarks with painted hieroglyphics and busts of Nefertiti and Cleopatra.

This whole fiasco has taken at least an hour and a half. The distance is a little over 2 miles of which I normally cover in 30 minutes or less. I am pooped! We cross the street to an odd little restaurant, the Felfelah. Upon entry, there is a counter with men doting tall paper chef hats and white uniforms with red bowties. This leads to mysterious sliding stained-glass doors that open to the oddest little hobbit Eden I have ever encountered.

Dim, but not dark for there is a painted skylight above: trellises adorned with hanging plastic grape vines: mosaic floors made from cobblestone and pieces earth-toned broken marble tile, mortared with gray cement. The tables are made of massive cuts of oddly shaped and darkly stained tree trunks. Other trees adorn the entrances to the tiered balcony levels flanking the central dining area. This entire splendor perfectly accented with a menagerie of tropical fish tanks, (one hanging over-head) and a turtle tank. My favorite though, was a large half moon shaped birdcage built into the wall, trimmed with seashells, and housing three very talkative little parakeets. I will not divulge their conversation (which I am sure I could understand through their chirps), but lets just say it took place over Rob's head; literally, as the whole affair was to his back.

The table next to us was occupied by a British journalist having a meeting with an Egyptian man, possibly his fixer. As they were leaving, we asked them what paper they worked for. The Independent. My favorite British paper, and also the employer of my favorite salty and jaded Middle East correspondent, Mr. Fisk. I mentioned that I had met his colleague in Beirut a few times, and his reply,

"Oh yes, Fisk is off today. Well what are you two doing here?"

Rob: "activists supporting the cause!"

Me: "tourist, he is the activist."

Journalist: "oh yes, you are the ones we have seen on TV then, stirring the pot so to speak."

Rob: "yes, that’s great"

I love some dry British humor in the afternoon. Actually, I will take it any time of day.

Journalist: "well, see you then, and good luck".

Me: "Give my regards to Mr. Fisk would you, from an old fan he met in Beirut"

Journalist: "will do. Bye now."

Shortly after this exchange, we also depart the magical world of Felfelah and start making the journey home: This time by Metro. 1 L.E. to enter. Very clean compared to the racket above. The trains are 4 or 5 cars long of which 2 middle cars are for women only. Not that women can't ride with the men if they wanted to, but who would! They are crammed in there like sardines! The women's cars at least have space to breathe and even plenty of legroom I might add. Not too much different from an off peak hour in the DC metro. We exit at the next stop, Opera, and walk from there. Much more quite than downtown.

By this time, the sun has started to complete its travel over the Cairo sky. It has just reached that perfect height that makes everything glow with a rich orange-pink hue and contrasts the shadows and colors with a glowing brilliance. The best light for taking pictures. We walk down past old French colonial style buildings, a few vast gardens, an ancient massive banyan tree that was planted sometime in the mid 1800's, (imagine the history this tree has in the circles of its bark), the Cairo tower, and then stumble upon a beautiful massive pink compound exploding with the glow from the sun, but hidden behind walls and gates. I reach my camera in between the bars and take a few photos.

"MAMNOU3! MAMNOU3!"

Uh, oh. One of the workmen has started shouting at us, "not allowed! Not allowed!" Oops. It just so happens to be the new police academy. Sorry, I am just a stupid tourist.

A little detour later (we took the long way unknowingly), we reach our neighborhood again, completely pooped. But hey, there is a curfew that starts at 8:00 pm and we have not tried the local pub yet. Go down for a nightcap and back home within the hour (it is right around the corner), the perfect finish to a brilliantly busy day.

We started off at 1:00 pm for a mission 2 miles away. We finally reached home at 6:00 pm, and got back from the pub by 7:30 pm. It sure takes a long time to get things done in Cairo.

A few days later, things all seem so quiet in the morning

I have been here for 3 days now.

After the first day, we finally reached Ahmed's place in Dokki, closer to downtown, making it easier for us to move about. I have not been sleeping well. Jetlag, or lack of a proper bed or a combination of both, but regardless, it had put my writing on hold for a moment. At Ahmed's, we ate a good dinner, delivery, and just settled into our new environment. Ahmed was very happy to have us as it helped distract him from the immediate shock of the loss of his mother. The next morning, Rob went to meet his friends from Code Pink who were doing activist things downtown, and Ahmed and I took a short walk around the neighborhood for some supplies. Got cash from a working ATM and went to the pharmacy. I have been suffering from some sort of very painful ear infection and was desperate for medicine. Unlike pharmacies in the US, you don’t need a prescription for things like antibiotics. The lady at the counter was amazingly helpful. Asked me my symptoms and recommended the appropriate treatments. She had a sweet face, soft red lipstick, and wore a white Hijab and pharmacist coat. Spoke perfect English.

"You are here for tourism?"

"Yes. And to visit my friend here."

"Even with the current situation? It does not bother you?"

"Not really. I don’t care much about it."

"That is good. Well, welcome. Feel better."

"Shukrun. Ma3 salaam."

We walked around the corner to the store, got some juice and Nescafe, and headed back to the house. While Rob was out having a great adventure for the day, I just stayed in the house with Ahmed and watched movies on TV.

Rob finally returned with stories. Code Pink had decided on flower power. They went and spent $200 on various flowers and doting vests that read, "we stand with you in solidarity" or some such thing written in Arabic, went down to Tahrir square. Ushered through the women's side of the checkpoint and into the crowd, a circle of people holding hands surrounded them and made space for them to move, keeping people away, and escorted them to the stage, where they were sent up and introduced. They tossed the flowers, stem by stem, into the crowd. After, people were hugging and kissing them.

All of this was reported to me second hand of course, from Rob when he finally got back to the apartment around dusk. I was happy that I did not join. The story was amazing to hear, but I am not good in crowds, especially if I am suffering from head pain.

By the time Rob returned, the medicine had started working and I was feeling much better and able to sleep a bit that night, but still not enough to grant me much energy the next day. It didn't help of course, that I was staying on a love seat with my legs either hanging over the armrest or curled up in a ball with my neck all tweaked.

I woke again round 3am during the night and could not get back to sleep. I turned on the TV and watched some stupid American sitcoms before finally landing on a great Jet Li movie, Swordsmen II. Amazing to watch, but long, so by the time Ahmed got up and prepared Nescafe for us, I was still awake.

Rob finally woke up, came out of his room in his legendary blue velour bathrobe, and joined us for morning coffee. He had plans to meet up with his friends from Code Pink again that day, not in the square, but doing some other sort of activity. I was, as you can imagine, still exhausted, and wanted to spend more time with Ahmed.

After Rob left, we got motivated to get out of the house as well, getting a bit of cabin fever. Ahmed's family has been a member of the Gezira Sports Club for his whole life. He practically grew up there. We decided to venture there for the afternoon to have coffee and sit in the gardens.

In the taxi that took us over the Nile to the island of Zamalek, there was plenty of traffic, but still nothing compared to an ordinary day in Cairo. It was 100 L.E. (about $15 or so) for me to enter, being a foreigner. With my official chit in hand, we walked into the compound. Gardens, cafes, and gyms. Swimming pools and fountains. A golf course, and horse stables, even with a track for practicing Polo. After a short tour, we sat at a table looking at the golf course and ordered Arabic coffee, cheese sandwiches, and bottled water from the very pleasant waiter.

The sun was shining through the passing clouds, and the breeze around the island was cool enough to wear a sweater and scarf. Other tables around were occupied with people chatting, enjoying coffee, and Cleopatra cigarettes. Stray cats slept curled up on chairs in the sun, or wandered about meowing for food or attention. A group of Crows was busying themselves with the better part of crumbs from a KFC box that was left on the terrace and two stray dogs wandered in and circled about investigating options for food. All these creatures mingled about in the same space next to our table. Ahmed tossed them some pieces of bread, and they all had their go for it, but didn't fight each other or make a scene about it. We sat in the sun chatting and finishing our coffee.

My eyes were half open at this point. All I wanted was sleep so we got up to make our way home, but first stopped by the patio round the pool to see if any of Ahmed's friends were about. We did find a few and sat with them for 10 minutes or so. There were two older divorcees wearing gaudy jewelry and bad make up, chain-smoking Cleopatra cigarettes.

"What is your name?"

"Sahari." (I find leaving out the 'T' just makes it easier in certain situations.)

"Eh? Ana Sahar! Inti Sahari, Ana Sahar, you plurial, me one!" She was very amused by this. "What is your religion?"

"I don’t have one."

"This is better. We don’t have to argue about anything then."

She was very sweet and enjoyed the conversation so entirely that it made me smile a lot.

There were people everywhere seemingly just happy to get out of the house and have at least a day of relative normalcy back.

I crashed for a 45-minute nap when we returned home only to be woken by hunger. I guess the sandwiches were not quite enough food. Rob came home with more stories and had, during the day, procured a key to his friend's empty apartment in Zamalek that afternoon.

We ate some dinner, said goodbye to Ahmed for the evening, loaded all robs suitcases and my backpack into a taxi leaving just enough room for me to squeeze into the back seat, and headed for our new living quarters. It was dark by this time. We passed through one makeshift checkpoint just crossing the bridge to the island. Down a narrow street in a quiet neighborhood, we arrived. A group of neighbors were busy setting up a fire in the street and pulling up chairs around it. Women, little children running around, and some men, chatting loudly and happily about god knows what. We spent about 15 minutes knocking on the security door to the building trying to find the bawaab (door man). The apartment is great. Spacious with marble floors and two bedrooms with massive king size beds. I looked forward to sleeping this night.

Not yet 9:00 pm, we ventured into the Streets to see what was about and go to the Marriot hotel close by for Arghileh and a drink. The streets were very quiet, but the people we did run into were very friendly. The Marriot in Cairo might as well be a palace for a king. Grand, ornate architecture, beautiful lobbies and at least three or four bars and restaurants with outdoor patios surrounded by gardens and fountains.

We sat for the better part of an hour, enjoying conversation, smoking arghileh, and having gin cocktails while we pondered over the various occupations of the foreigners at other tables. Most of them journalists, even recognizing one British guy we saw on BBC earlier that morning whom I liked, and Rob did not.

Short walk back to the apartment, past some neighbors sitting on their landing smoking arghileh. "Masah al-khair." (Good evening). A large man with a huge belly and a grey dushdish (long tunic), a white embroidered cap, and dark sunglasses, sat in the yellow streetlights and smoked away with his friends. Again, we cannot seem to rouse Salah, the bawaab, though knocking diligently. One of the neighbors comes over and yells to another who was sitting down the block round the fire to come and find Salah. The other neighbor comes over and knocks on the door as well.

First neighbor, "why are you knocking? You see me knocking? So you are knocking? Go around the building to the side, and get Salah from his room."

Second neighbor seems a bit perplexed, "Ya Salah!"

First neighbor, "you want to leave these foreigners in the street? Go around the building." Second neighbor finally gives in, and Salah eventually comes to the door.

I finally get some rest falling asleep to the sound of the neighbors round the fire happily chatting away.

It is now 6:00 am. I woke at 4:30 this morning rather than 3:00. Not able to go back to sleep, I have been writing these events of the last 2 days here in Cairo, where I am determined to see what life is like amid chaos, though it really does not seem chaotic to me at all. The sun rises in the East. The muezzin is heard from the mosques calling people to prayer and alerting me that it must be between 4:00 and 6:00 am. The birds chirp in the early dawn and the city prepares for another day of adventures, or maybe, just some more coffee and conversation.

Amendments

I have to be honest about my ignorance of the history of politics in Egypt. First off, I am much more familiar with Lebanon.

I am learning more, almost every hour. I just watched a great documentary about Mubarak that was on Aljazeera English made before the latest developments.

I was unaware of all the protest movements that have taken place over the last 15 years or more here in Egypt against policies of Mubarak's government. I knew about the dictatorship of course, but it was not fair of me to ask why "they have waited 30 years to voice their opinion?"

My own ignorance forced me to reconsider my words. I stand corrected.

People have been opposing for a long time, just never in such magnitude with such exposure.

So maybe I am here for more reasons than I can figure right now. As usual, I just learn as I go along.

More later after I venture out of the house today. I just had to correct myself.

"What the hell are you doing in cairo?

"What the hell are you doing in cairo?

I thought they were making all the Americans leave"…Grandpa

For anyone who has known me and been in regular contact in the last two years, you know that my visits to my grandpa are so so important. When I left, he told me to stay away from Egypt. Today I called him and over a poor connection told him I was in cairo. His response…"What the hell are you doing in cairo?" I love the man, but I am also crazy and cant resist good (really?) offers.

Rob and I are now at my friend Ahmed's place, just a short distance from the square. We arrived in the morning without any trouble via taxi. There are reports coming out that seem radical to me. Mubarak says that he thinks leaving now without resolution would leave the country in a poor state and I think he is right, but people want him gone. My question is why have they waited 30 years to voice their opinion? I know that it is bad under him, even Ahmed had to flee the country 13 years ago because of police brutality (sticky situation), but he is sitting in his house avoiding the streets. I don’t have to tell you what you see on the news, that is obvious. But there are many other stories to tell that are not being aired.

I have decided to dedicate this forum to expressing the sense of normalcy amid the chaos. You wont get it any where else. Individualsa going through identity crisis, souls on a journey, and humans dealing with loss. I mentioned earlier that Ahmed's mom passed. It is my most important mission right now to make sure that he is OK, loved, and attended to. I don’t care about protests and revolution, I care for my friend.

The helicopters continue to circle, making it hard to sleep. After two days of being awake, I am glued to the news and the damned helicopters. I just want to see the pyramids then go to Beirut.

I must sound completely bifocal, biloco or bipolar with the last two paragraphs. The truth is I do care about revolution. I think it is amazing what human beings can create and achieve through mass uprising...I also think it is scary. I know that Peace, equality, and liberation are ideally achieved in such ways, but I cannot pretend that masses are not prone to idiocy, violence, and lunacy.

Is that what is happening in Cairo, I don’t know. I don’t think so, but I think the media is making it appear to be one of those two paradigms.

I am currently 5 to 10 minutes walk from the epicenter, and there is not a sound on the street. Only the noise in my head and my jet lag keep me up for such hours. Obama is on Aljezeera standing in front of an American flag and a Canadian flag asking for violence to stop in Egypt. Thoughts are running through my head about so many things. At one point I want to join the revolution, at another, I am not an activist at all. I don’t quite know what to do with myself.

I think I will continue to focus on the macrocosm and remember that everywhere in the world, there are things that need to be fixed. Things that need attention. I will keep dreaming I suppose, of the pyramids, tourism and what uprising means to the daily bread of a people.

I am still convinced that Mubarak had something to do with Sadaat's assassination and that unlike what they taught me in foreign policy class, it was not a warning shot, but a spare. I guess I am crazy though for not having enough authors to cite in my speculation. What can you do?

At the end of the day, there is you, and only you, alone with your spirit and the deeds done. What do you choose? Freedom fighter? Renegade journalist? Crazy soul seeker? Lover? Friend? Or just plain human being at the core?

I think I opt for the later few. Maybe that is my purpose…to remind and report the normalcy of human beingness in daily life amid chaotic human expression.