Part I of this story, if you did not get a chance to read it, can be found just below, a couple of entries ago. It is the story of our exit from Egypt at the end of January. This is the story of our return.
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After a couple of stressful and unsettling days in a Frankfurt airport hotel, where we tried to digest all that happened and was happening, we decided the best decision, if we’re going to sit and watch, was to head home to Canada.
It is incredible how quickly, and how effectively, the media hype was able to enter our thought processes once we had left – almost as quickly and incredibly as we found ourselves back in Canada, half a world away, and seemingly not even sharing a planet. Despite intimate knowledge of the happenings in Egypt, and still with some access to friends who remained, I couldn’t help finding myself thinking the worst – I would like to blame CNN, but I stopped watching that upon finding CBC Newsworld and CTV News Channel on the dial, and despite a little less sensationalism and a higher degree of professionalism in my opinion, I couldn’t shake doom and gloom.
The low-point for me came on Thursday, February 10. As we were driving into Southern Ontario for a much anticipated reunion with more family and friends, we heard through CBC Radio that Mubarak was getting ready to speak to the nation, and that by all accounts, he was preparing to step down…FINALLY! After hours of waiting, a typical tactic, Mubarak did speak, but did not step down. I was at a loss. This not only deflated me as I was anticipating celebrations across Egypt and the world, it had me scared for what the reaction would be. I was fearful as I believed Mubarak had purposely raised the possibility of him leaving to fan the flames of hope and anticipation (which had attracted thousands more to Tahrir Square); and then when he did not step down, I believed he was hoping that the let-down would unleash anger and violence, giving him reason to believe he was needed to keep the ‘peace’.
I could not imagine how the people of Egypt must have been feeling at that moment – I felt as though the winter gray skies had suddenly grown closer, and this was not going to end peacefully. Thursday night was another difficult night of contrasts; a happy family reunion with weight on my mind of the prospect of civil war in Egypt.
But to my surprise, everyone in Egypt steeled themselves against the frustration and anger, and they did not waiver in their demands or in their desire to get what they wanted peacefully. It really bothers me that I was surprised. Why should I be surprised? I had lived with these people. I had witnessed their determination. Would we, as Canadians, have responded differently? Would I? Hopefully we never have to know.
But instead of lashing out, as I had thought they would, the people of Egypt did the astounding, they came together as never before. Through the night of Thursday, February 10 and into the early morning hours of Friday, February 11, people by the tens of thousands streamed into Tahrir Square. By the time early morning prayers had concluded, the people of Cairo, and of Egypt, had proved they would not stand down, they would not be baited into violence against one another, and in an almost anti-climatic end, the recently installed Vice-President went on state television to announce that Mubarak had left! A miracle!
The jubilation echoed around the world, and the images witnessed on a television set half a world away, coupled with my feelings of connection to all people at that moment, will stay with me for as long as I live. The feeling of pride I had for the people of Egypt overwhelmed me, and I desperately wanted to be in the square celebrating with them. They had set the example we dreamed of – they had proven the spirit of humanity is strong in 2011. Friday was the best of all possible days. I had woken up fearful to turn on the news for what I would see and hear, only to learn that we had reason to celebrate.
Of course, with Mubarak stepping down, our thoughts soon went to our future, and that of Egypt’s. The stepping down of a president is not the end but in fact the beginning of the revolution. Would we be able to take part in our small way as teachers in Egypt? Should we? It was soon decided that school was going to re-open on the 20th of February and we essentially had nine days to get back. Were we ready? Did it matter?
Leaving Canada was particularly difficult this time as we had the obvious pressure to stay from family and friends – questions about safety, ours and everyone else’s, and the indisputable fact, Canada is so good. But the desire to get back was equally strong. A return to work – to feeling useful, to doing what we do. A return to a country that needed to get back to normal so it could get down to the business of building a nation. A return to our students who had not much choice in living through these historic times, surely many not comprehending what had happened and what was happening – although to think anyone fully comprehends this situation is ludicrous. And so with some hesitation and trepidation, we hopped on a plane bound for Cairo, and to what else, we did not know.
This was now our fourth time landing at the Cairo Airport, and it was certainly the strangest. All these mixed emotions entering a place that just 17 days ago we had left amidst chaos, confusion, and some extortion. Now we come back to an airport like any other in the world. If you didn’t know what had happened, you wouldn’t have noticed anything here. For us though, we did know, and we noticed the small things. The enthusiasm of the staff of the airport, not knowing who we were, but a little happier to see us. An almost enthusiastic, “Welcome back!” from the customs agent. Taxi drivers, while still looking to make a few dollars by giving us a ride, literally and figuratively, smiled more and offered us, “Welcome to Egypt!” with a little more sincerity – or maybe that was just me.
The ride back to our apartment was as ‘normal’ a car ride as you are going to get in Cairo – flying along the highway at 120 km, using all three lanes as if there were six, the only difference being the number of Egyptian flags adorning the cars and trucks we passed. Arriving to our building we were met by the same people who just days ago were grim with determination and seriousness, and were now all smiles, and all too happy to help get our stuff inside.
The next couple of days kind of run into each other as we dealt with the inevitable jet lag from being seven hours out of sync, but also in dealing with the raw energy that pervaded everything we did. Egypt was still unsettled. No one knew what was going to happen next. But to a person, they remain defiant and sure that it will work out. Along with the smiles and greetings, there is an intangible difference in how the Egyptians we met on these first few days carried themselves. They were proud of what they had done, they stood taller so to speak, and the determination to make this work rippled to the surface the longer you spent time with them. But it was also sometime during these first few days that we noticed a bloody hand print outside the door of the first floor apartment, the apartment belonging to the building care-taker and his family. It was a stark, and now daily, reminder of the seriousness of the situation we left, and come back to. While the world celebrated a ‘peaceful’ revolution, for many Egyptians, loved ones were badly hurt, and in an estimated 300 families, killed.
The 20th of February did not bring us together with our students (that would have to wait two more days), but it did give us a chance to collect and re-group as a staff. To try and plan how to move forward, to discuss how in the world you deal with students in this situation, and share stories of trips out of the country, stories of home, stories of returning, and stories of staying. The best part of this day was learning that 100% of the staff had chosen to return – chosen to come back to their students, to continue to be role models for children that had come to depend on them, to try to bring a sense of normalcy to young people who we were sure needed it, and to continue to play a small part in helping this country grow.
On our second day we got to hear from some of the Egyptian staff, and their take on the matter. While their enthusiasm was tempered from that which the world witnessed in Tahrir Square through their television sets, their passion was certainly evident. It was made clear that our presence, and our return, was to them, a good omen, a sign of progress, not only in the revolution, but for the country – as teachers we would be leading the people who were going to inherit this time in history. It was an uplifting message, but one that again led to mixed feelings of confidence and ignorance. Confident in what I do as a teacher, ignorant to what a teacher is ‘supposed’ to do.
And with that came the first day that we had been anticipating. How would it go? There was no doubt going to be children from families who were not happy with the changes, and they would be sharing a classroom with youngsters caught up in the euphoria of the moment and teachers who, ideologically speaking, were on board with what was happening. How would this play out? How would we handle it?
From the moment of seeing the first student, it became apparent as to how most students were going to be feeling today – relief! Relief at being back to a routine that had been interrupted. Relief at getting back to doing what they do. Relief that, while being surrounded by chaos, at home and in the streets, their classroom would remain a sanctuary. The energy in the school was tangible, and smiles, and shouts of reunion were everywhere – for many of the students, being away from school also means being away from friends as many live great distances from each other, made all that greater by closed roads and insecurity. The school was adorned in red, white, and black, teachers included, and possibly for the first time, students stood and not just listened, but heard their national anthem, which begins “Biladi, Biladi, Biladi” meaning, “My country, my country, my country!”
Then the stories came. Some exaggerated. Some with hesitation. Some with happiness. Many with fear and anxiety. All attempting to come to terms with what they experienced. Many student homes had been the targets of the looters in those first few days – the days that led us to leave – and family businesses were looted. Friends injured. Neighbours killed. First-hand accounts of violence from the people closest to them. For me, teaching Grade 7, the stories focused on their family, and the role they played in protecting themselves and each other. Many got to go to Tahrir Square after Mubarak stepped down, and those that did, recounted the wonderful scene of celebration. Mine was a day to enjoy.
For others, things were tougher. The stories heard elsewhere in the school focused on the events of the square, who was there and who was not. But it was also first-hand accounts of being on the streets on those first few scary nights. Seeing things they’d never thought they’d see. Doing things they’d never thought they’d do. Some recounting with that spark of pride. Others with that weight of fear. Everyone had a story. And none of them had been seen on TV.
And so the first day of school after the revolution came and went. A school community trying to come to grips with all that has transpired, and each of us trying to figure out how we can best play our part. All around Cairo we are witnessing small victories, as people, long believing change was someone else’s job, do their part to make Cairo better. Communities are banding together to make their neighbourhood cleaner, better, brighter. Murals are being painted. Flags are everywhere. Red, white, and black dominate. Tuesdays and Fridays have been set aside as days of protest – Tuesday to mark the tangible beginning and the continuation of this struggle; Friday, the holy day, to keep the pressure, and the eyes of the world, on the people charged with bringing about the changes so many want. Tahrir Square, as the days wore on became a community unto itself – protecting and providing for its citizens. A sophisticated network of volunteer security to ensure the peace was kept, and infiltrators kept out. Now it has become a symbol for a new generation, and Tahrir, meaning liberation, has taken on a new meaning.
And now we wait, and we hope. We wait to see what will happen next, and we hope that Egypt continues to be the shining example, as many in the Middle East, and throughout the world, try to give themselves’ a voice not heard before.
Egypt is speaking. Some say for the first time. So we wait, we listen, and we hope.
Well, it could be worse!!
Oh, and they voted too! Just in case you were wondering.
The very happy couple making their appearance at the reception. Outstanding party, outstanding food, just plain OUTSTANDING!
Confirmation from these guys that Las Vegas IS the City of Sin. Happy New Year!
GAMBLING - While John was able to walk away from our trip with an extra $2000, his wins did not match the excitement of Tasha's big score - $42.50!!!!
SHOW - All you need is LOVE! So good.
With the Gnome in Rome by the Dome (the dome being the top of St. Peter's)!
Anyone seen the Colisseum? Oh, there it is!
