Cairo Mania!: The Revolution WILL NOT Be Televised

So much has happened in the month since we returned to Cairo. First there was the bombing in Alexandria of a Coptic Christian celebration that had many bracing, and most of the world believing the inevitable Christian vs. Muslim clash. What was not widely known was that following that incident, many Muslims around Egypt went with their Christian compatriots and neighbours to Coptic New Year prayers and services in a sign of solidarity. It was a moving time, and had us feeling pretty good about starting 2011 in Cairo.

But it also left us a little frustrated at the Western media and the sensational coverage they give to places near and far.

And so, with that, below is an account of our experiences over the days that had many all over the world rightfully scared and nervous, but has left us hopeful for a peaceful resolution to this revolution.

The Revolution WILL NOT be Televised

Everyone hoped that what they were seeing was both the truth and not possible. Family and friends a world away, linked only through snippets gathered during a complete media blackout on the famed networks. But the truth is, what they are seeing is not the truth and is very much possible. Fortunately for those of us here, it has been everything they have described and nothing like it at all.

It began Tuesday (the 25th of January, 2011) with a holiday to commemorate the police, an institution both feared and famed throughout Egypt, and one as it turns out, the locals have come to depend on despite their hatred of it. The police here are charged not only with protection but with ensuring the people keep their place. And so on Tuesday with anger around the world mounting over the inequalities of life, Egypt was presented with an opportunity to add their voice to the discontent – and they spoke loud and clear. Louder than even the most hopeful of the people had expected. Certainly louder than anyone within the Egyptian government could have ever imagined, particularly since they reside in their own little fantasy world of being the defenders of the land – loved by all.

With the help of social media thousands upon thousands of people took to the streets on Tuesday demanding a better life, demanding a fair shake, and demanding that their government, their dictatorship, their protectors, do something about it. But did anyone hear?

And so Tuesday passed. A one line sentence across the bottom of the TV screen, only worth mentioning because Egypt is so large and the recent unrest in what many must now believe to be their neighbour in Tunisia (they are not neighbours and don’t even particularly like each other) was still a recent memory. That one line did not sum up the fact that the people vowed to be back, that this time was different.

And while that one line, or anyone who read it, certainly did not foreshadow or anticipate what was to come, missing the point even more was the government. They played the day as something as a show of support for the police, and used the relatively peaceful protests as proof that Egypt was in fact an open and democratic society, and people were allowed to voice their displeasure. What they also then said was that those few who were bent on continuing the unrest were infiltrators into Egypt who wanted to destabilize the largest and most peaceful of the Arab states. And if they intended on trying to protest again they would be met with severe punishment. Word of this spread like wildfire through the internet and cafes and soon those “few” promised to be back Friday. This time was going to be different.

And so went Wednesday and Thursday. A growing sense of impending history among the people against the backdrop of an arrogant and misguided government.

Friday morning arrived, and those of us in ignorance – which is anyone at this point who did not speak or read Arabic – really had no idea of what to expect. Soon the internet was down and by 10 am phones were gone too, and we fell further into the dark. But being in our little expat bubble, and knowing the trouble was miles away in downtown Cairo our thoughts focused on whether appointments were going to be kept or baseball practice was going to be held. Spending the day in an un-enforced house arrest I finally ventured out into the calm to see what was up, connect with some friends, and see if baseball was indeed on. It was not. And at 5:30 in the afternoon, those of us that met on the eerily quiet street, all in ignorance, were none the wiser.

A quick stop into the local ex-pat club revealed that I was in the dark more than most as our TV was not working, leaving me to believe everyone’s was as well – no one was surprised to have the internet and phones done, so my TV also being done left me assuming it was all just part of the day, part of the inconvenience. But this was not the case, and the growing story was now getting full coverage as people flooded into the streets of Egypt’s biggest cities.

With this new found source of information, and a 6:30 rendezvous with my wife, I set off in search of some friends to join the viewing party. By 5:45 however Cairo was put under a 6:00 pm curfew, which soon extended to all of Egypt, and my confidence in the calm of where I found myself, was lost. Determined to meet my wife, and sure that despite the Cairo curfew things in our little bubble would remain the same for a little while, three of us set out, after curfew, to meet my wife and gather at the ex-pat club to watch as history unfolded. Only this time, upon arriving at the club, where minutes before there was a crowd of 30-40 people eating watching the events unfold, we found its doors were locked, and our entrance denied. This heightened my growing anxiety as I had to meet my wife who I hadn’t seen in over an hour, and who was possibly even more unaware of the situation than I was. But once again, proving ignorance is at times bliss, and after 15 minutes of anxious waiting, my wife strolled up all smiles.

And so went Friday. A trip from blissful ignorance to watching the events of the evening unfold on television as if we were hundreds of miles away, knots in our stomachs as we knew this was just the beginning, but not knowing what that beginning really meant, or when it would end.

Saturday morning arrived – the sun shining and an eery calm in our little corner of Cairo. So calm and so restless from another night confined indoors, that we ventured out to the little street in our neighbourhood where breakfast could be found at a local diner and we could digest what was happening with others who were hopefully more in tuned with what was happening than we were. What we found under the shining sun were smiles all around us and a feeling that we had reached the end – marginal violence had not increased and things had ended relatively peacefully. By 11:00 am phones were back up, and believing all was well, we said goodbye to our friends and made plans to hang out again later. Knowing the protests were planned again, but this time with a belief we knew what was going on, we went home and went about our day as usual.

Just before 3:00 pm Saturday we once again wandered out of our house only this time, things were dramatically different. Our normally cheerful neighbours were bathed in seriousness, and many men were carrying sticks and knives, and as we were to learn later, guns. The relatively peaceful protests of the night before had spread to our neighbourhood and the rumour of vandalism and small looting was on the lips of everyone. It was then explained to us in no uncertain terms that it would be best to return to our apartment and stay there until morning. Shortly after that, the first gun shots were heard.

They came from across the way, from the jail on the other side of the highway, but for us they may as well have been in our apartment. Then the words that would prove to be the definition of our night scrolled across the screen – “Vandalism and looting spreading through Cairo.” “Shots heard at a prison outside of Cairo. Inmates suspected of rioting and escaping.” With the television our only source of information we were joined by our neighbours, young women from the west, both seasoned expat teachers in Cairo, both bewildered by what we were reading and hearing, we together held vigil over the television, taking brief glimpses to the street below in the dying light of day where the men of the neighbourhood armed themselves with whatever they could find and organized themselves.

The first shouts of anger and call to arms arrived a short while later and brought the four of us to the window to witness a fire being set and people running in all directions. BANG BANG BANG The shots rang out and we all hit the floor. Windows rattled and screams and shouts surrounded us. More shots and more yelling, and then nothing. Our neighbours ran back to their apartment as we barricaded ours with locked doors that had chairs jammed under the handle – not to mention a couple of empty wine bottles and a kitchen knife.

And so went Saturday night. The story of looting and vandalism growing along with the story of neighbourhood watches. Calm followed by chaos followed by more calm. Phones ringing off the hook as people from all over the city called and shared their stories of what was happening around them. A night spent coming to grips with a difficult balancing act of being both afraid for our safety and proud of the efforts of ordinary folks to keep the peace. But mostly afraid. Our ignorance was no longer something that allowed us to leave in bliss, but in extreme fear as to what was really going on.

As we were to learn, the success of Friday night emboldened a great many people to act. Many more joined the protests, leaving a small minority of people an opportunity to descend on the vacant streets. This small group became all the more brave as they discovered the police had quite literally vanished from the streets (they are very nearly as common on the streets of Cairo as the garbage and the cats), in a supposed attempt to rein in the contempt and incidences of violence. As word spread, more of the poor and desperate, and those with a criminal streak, sought to take advantage, while many more took up the position of local vigilantes bent on protecting what was theirs – a recipe for confusion and confrontation that lasted throughout the night amidst the sound track of gun shots, both in the distance and far too close for comfort.

Sunday morning arrived before restful sleep did, and we were determined to be more prepared today than were the day before. We packed a bag each and headed back to our friends place across town not wanting to be across from the prison, looking for a little more quiet, and comfort in familiarity. We came downstairs to find some evidence of the chaos of the night before – tired eyes and men with sticks – but mostly we found a quiet street that would have deceived anyone regarding the events of the night before. A sun shining and children playing. A sense of calm was restored but we remained aware that we had under-estimated what was happening twice before, and we were not about to do that again. After some 20 minutes of waiting and assuring our neighbours we were not fleeing, but going to be with a larger group of friends, a taxi was granted access by what we believed to be our neighbourhood’s rag-tag security force, and we were on our way.

The streets remained empty but we soon realised this was not rag-tag security as evidence was everywhere of the sophistication of the previous night’s efforts. Road blocks at strategic locations. Anything and everything that could be moved or used, was, to increase the security of all. The evidence was also in the eyes of all we came across – a steeled determination to prevent anarchy and to prove to the world that Egypt was not about to descend into chaos. But the events of Saturday night had proved to be too much for many in the expat community, many of whom are teachers, and with shots continuing to be heard through the day, plans were being put in place to get out. Phones rang throughout the day – from home, from around the corner, from across the city – as people tried to figure just what to do. It was learned the airport was chaos, with many of the 100,000 or so weekly tourists and the $1 billion in tourist revenue trying to get out. And with internet still down in the country, people organized and discussed with those elsewhere what to do and the sense of confusion grew.

Early in the afternoon, the friends we were with learned through that through the wonders of greasing some wheels and likely some palms that they were to be evacuated the following morning to a resort town on the Sinai coast. Despite efforts to get us on that bus, we were not staff at their school and so security clearance could not be given to us. We were going to be left behind.

And so went Sunday afternoon. A growing sense that this was something that was not going to go away in a day or two, anxiety at being separated from our friends in these uncertain times, while taking in reports from the television that things were only going to get worse. Much worse. But Sunday night came and went, and despite our provisions and preparedness, nothing happened. The protests grew. The neighbourhood militias became even more organized and determined. And for the most part, nothing happened.

Except for the phone. With a time difference of 7 hours or so from most of our families, they were waking up to reports of growing insanity as the media fed the story and exploited every angle of violence as peaceful demonstrations do not keep an audience glued to the TV. And despite having witnessed and felt a day of increasing assuredness that Egypt had reached the precarious balance of peaceful, purposeful protest, we were left with pits of anxiety in our stomachs as family and friends tried to understand what was happening with us and to make sure we were safe. Not an hour went by without a phone call from someone somewhere, and by 8:00 am Monday morning, weary from the roller-coaster of events and emotions, our friends prepared to leave and we were left to ponder what was going to happen next.

And so Monday morning arrived. An uneasy goodbye to friends – anxiety at being separated, happiness that at least something was being done, an echo of gunfire around us, confidence in the people of Egypt doing it right. We walked out past many people who had spent the night defending their turf to see more smiles, another confusing sign in all this. Happiness in the success of their efforts, determination not to give up, but all holding tightly to their weapon of choice.

Leaving our friends at the corner we were once again on our way home in a taxi, and the transformation from just 24 hours before was astonishing. While the sophistication of the security was evident the day before, the road blocks and security check points were far more in number and determined, even to the point of our car being searched before making our final turn into our neighbourhood. In our neighbourhood we were greeted by even more smiles, handshakes, and assurances that we would be looked after and safe. We were once again feeling that being at the centre of history wasn’t so bad, and that sticking around was the better option than spending 10 hours on a bus filled with panic-stricken colleagues. So confident were we that we decided to venture out with a colleague to collect some groceries and once again prepare for another evening under curfew.

In our walk around town we met many others and heard many similar stories to what we had been through over the last couple of days, and each story and exchange left us feeling better about what we were experiencing.

But then the phone rang again.

We were told we had a very short window of time to make a decision – the Canadian government was arranging flights out of the country, first-come first-serve to Canadian passport holders. Two flights. 5:00 pm and 7:30 pm. It was 12:05. What to do? What about our neighbours? What about our jobs? Wasn’t this just about over? What should we do? We went.

It was not an easy decision, but with only moments to make it, it was the right one. We were not helping with our presence, and in fact, we may have made our neighbourhoods targets. At least that’s what we told ourselves to make it easier. Our inability to speak the language meant we couldn’t help when things required quick thinking and coordinated action. As foreigners it would be easier for others to take out their frustrations on us rather than a fellow Egyptian, which would only put those who were protecting us in a compromising position. At least that is what we told ourselves to make it easier. We left, hoping our exit would allow others to no longer worry about us, and we are sure that where there were smiles just an hour ago upon our return, there were now looks of understanding and even relief. At least that is what we told ourselves to make it easier. We left, hoping that the people of Egypt get all that they want and deserve.

Within minutes we had a ride arranged for ourselves and a colleague along with his family, and by 1:30 we were on a bus trying to find a spot within the airport complex where “the Canadians” could be organized. Amid the chaos of the airport we found a patch of grass where we filled out paperwork to ensure our spots on the planes and make sure the Canadian government knows who owes them $400 for the privilege for leaving. By 4:30 were led into the terminal past many desperate people as we headed to the counter to check our luggage and pass through security. By 6:00 all “the Canadians” were through and waiting to find the gate we were to load through. At 7:00 we were told to go to Gate 3 for “Immediate Boarding” only to find the gate abandoned and the door out to the tarmac locked. Another 15 minutes of confusion was followed by the heroically patient diplomat from Canada explaining that many Egyptian workers had worked hard behind the scenes to ensure our safe passage and that some ‘bakeesh’ was necessary – a gesture all agreed was something we were happy to oblige. Even thankful. For the moment. For it seems the generousity and gratitude of “the Canadians” was quickly noted by some people who had done nothing for us to this point saw the opportunity presented by an eager and desperate group of people to leave. Within minutes of handing over a sizeable and generous ‘bakeesh’ we were presented with an ultimatum by the recently re-installed police. $2000 USD or the doors will not open. Anger quickly flooded the room, but more to the point, an inevitable sense that we were doomed to be spending a night in the airport in the middle of the anarchy we had so far mostly avoided.

On the assurances of the increasingly frustrated, but determined diplomat that all ‘donations’ would be receipted and people would be reimburse, the $2000 was raised within seconds, thanks mostly to one well-heeled tourist who threw $1200 into the pot. Thinking we had over-come our last obstacle to jettisoning out Cairo we were then surprised to see a police officer enter the gate and explain that we were not to be there and had to leave immediately. Did we pay up too quickly? Had they accepted the bribe and saw how easily and quickly it had been arranged? Panic once again returned, and many, possibly heartened by the protesters plight of fighting corruption, voiced their anger and frustration. Fortunately for us all, the bribe had yet to be paid, cooler heads prevailed, and soon we were loading buses headed for our Air Canada flight to Frankfurt.

But through the roller-coaster of emotions and moments over the last few days, and particularly the last six or seven hours, we remained resigned to not getting ahead of ourselves, and when the pilot announced that our only remaining delay (after 45 minutes on the plane) was waiting for the vehicle to push us back from our gate, no one groaned, but many wondered if we were in for a night of sleep on the tarmac and further greasing of wheels and palms. Fifteen minutes later we were pushing back, which brought a smattering of applause, but again, no one was willing to concede victory on this day until we were in the air. As the plane sped down the runway the feelings of relief were palatable and when the feeling of lift-off finally confirmed we were in the air, a roar of approval echoed through the cabin.

And so went Sunday night. An uneventful flight that left some 4 hours later than originally anticipated, headed towards Frankfurt, and to what else? Well, no one really knew.

And now I join the millions of people around the world watching events unfold in Egypt as if I was never there. The ticker giving me information on what the military might or might not do. Trying to guess how the people will react to this or to that. Listening to ‘experts’ and reporters give their stories, always hoping for a peaceful end to all this, a turn in the right direction, but always waiting for that next hurdle.

Whatever happens, I will not forget the people of Egypt. I will not forget the quiet determination of my neighbours. I will not forget the issues the protesters raise are the issues I have come to take for granted in my life and in my country. I will not forget that I am now a voice for all this. And I will not forget, that even while we can watch events unfold, the revolution will not be televised. It will be lived.