Chronicles of A Revolutionary Egyptian Expatriate (3)

The Choices

Tahrir Square, February 2011

Many people think they know what it must be like to be away from home while there's a revolution going on back there. I have to say that they don't, unless they've tried it themselves. It is not just that you worry about your family's safety in the midst of everything, and it is not just that you wonder what will happen now. There is more to it than words can say.

January 2011

Back in January and February, I spent endless hours in Dubai stuck to the couch watching TV and at the same time reading tweets about what's going on in Egypt. I spent a lot of money on long-distance phone calls to friends who were in Tahrir most of the time. I knew almost everything that was going on there, I knew too much, because I wanted to be there. My sleep was reduced to a few hours a night and was full of anxiety nightmares.

However, unlike many other Egyptian expats who thought there is nothing we could do, I felt I had a duty. I thought my duty was to spread the word about what is going in Egypt around the world as much as I can. Some of my friends in Egypt asked me to do that too. They were literally fighting for their lives, and for many Egyptians' lives. They could barely tweet what was happening on the streets to let everybody know the truth, but they had no time to spread it around. Many of the 18 days were full of tears and gloom. I was so depressed my chest hurt every night. At some point, I lost hope that anything was going to change. It looked like an endless fight between what is right and what unjust. Nonetheless, my friends in Tahrir never felt the same way I did, and they never gave up or stopped. Eventually, it worked and the tyrant stepped down! It made me feel ashamed that I ever lost hope.

But even then, I didn't feel at ease. Two days after that, I started feeling depressed again. This time I wasn't crying of fear or despair, I was crying because I wasn't there. I wasn't there when my brave friends faced all the tear gas, the bullets, and the numerous other ways they were attacked. I wasn't there when they all cried in Tahrir after Mubarak's defiant speech on that last weekend before he stepped down. I wasn't there when they heard he's leaving and cheered on the streets. I felt almost ashamed that I had to stay away because of my job. I spent an entire week seriously questioning my contribution to that great feat they've all achieved and contemplating how some people risked their lives and some lost theirs to get us all freedom, while I was safe in another country. It took me some time to get convinced that spreading the news about the revolution while trying to support my friends was a good contribution considering that I wasn't even there. And then of course, we all thought it was over. However, this time in November, it was quite different.

9 Months later...

Mohamed Mahmoud Street off Tahrir Square
By: Hossam El Hamalawy
http://www.flickr.com/photos/elhamalawy/6392975237/in/set-72157628195422489/

What happened in during November in itself wasn't entirely unexpected to me, but it was still so abrupt and so bloody. I had been hoping that the Tahrir spirit would come back to us after things have come to a still stand and the Supreme Council for Armed Forces (SCAF) had total control over everything. This time the security forces were amply prepared. They never ran out of ammunition, never received orders to withdraw, and they kept fighting for days on end. So many people died, so many lost eyes, and so many were injured every single hour. There was just too much blood on those streets.

Meanwhile, I had to continue reading my case studies every night. I had to keep showing up to classes and even participating to maintain my grades. I had to look ok and I had to answer people when they spoke to me. It was almost impossible to put up the pretense on some days. I woke up every single day during those two weeks and had to check my twitter in bed just to make sure my best friends were still alive in Tahrir. I had to read the news about new martyrs and more fighting every single morning while scrolling down to see if anyone I know was hurt. I've never been so scared in my life, because I knew those soldiers were told to kill and they were not going to stop.

A scene of the battle in Mohamed Mahmoud Street
By: Hossam El Hamalawy
http://www.flickr.com/photos/elhamalawy/6380916743/

It was extremely difficult to watch this happen from a distance one more time, and I felt so helpless. I was full of awe and respect for my friends who went back to the streets to face all of this brutality again. This time they definitely knew they could die, and they did not mind. They decided that it was either this or nothing; it was either freedom or death. My heart hurt for every person who died and every person who lost an eye, or even two, just because they want justice. I was full of anger and sadness, and kept thinking of why I'm here while this was going on. It is not a job that's holding me back this time, it's just a degree- one that I've dreamt of getting for years, and one that I want to use for the good of Egypt eventually. But what good was a degree going to be if all my friends might get hurt or even die? What good was it going to be in a destroyed country where oppression and injustice have taken over again?

The other hard part was how disconnected everyone around here is. We never discuss the news in class, whether political or economic news, whether American or international. One of defining moments for me was that during all the bloodshed in Egypt and the fear and despair I was feeling, I was supposed to decide if I want to spend $500 on a big dinner party or not. Naturally, I couldn't think about spending the equivalent of 3,000 Egyptian pounds on a party while I knew there're people who can't afford the surgeries they need after getting injured in Tahrir fighting on my behalf.  I can at least spend some of that money in Egypt to help somebody who needs help or buy things from a local shop that that can't make enough without tourism. In a strange way, I felt I had to act responsible. I've always promised myself that when I have things, I'd give to those who don't- whether that was money or knowledge and education.

The heart

Praying in Tahrir
By: Hossam El Hamalawy
http://www.flickr.com/photos/elhamalawy/6380238955/in/set-72157628195422489/

This made me realize I'll keep coming across similar moments when I have to be here with my body and part of my mind, but the rest of it along with my heart is in the other side of the world- in Egypt, and also in Syria, Yemen, and Bahrain were people are still getting killed everyday for demanding what's rightfully theirs. And I have to make space for that, because it means I won't always be involved in everything that's going on here. I came here to fulfill a personal dream of mine, but that dream has grown to span my country as well. After February 2011, I had a new sense of hope that I never had before. I started hoping I could one day spend the rest of my life in Egypt and that I could use all this education and knowledge that I've been accumulating to do something for my people. It might be a romantic idea, but now it controls my being here. It's the only reason I decided that it's ok to stay here while my friends were being shot at in Tahrir. Maybe it it not my turn to fight yet, but it's my turn to learn until it's time to fight a different kind of battle.

Chronicles of A Revolutionary Egyptian Expatriate (2)

I'm sitting here in Boston on my sofa looking at the ballot papers I'll mail tomorrow to the Egyptian embassy in DC in order to cast my vote for the parliamentary elections. I have a subtle but persistent headache that's been there since I woke up and there're dry tears on my face. There's a heaviness in my chest that I can't shake off. Why? I'm not even sure why.

A wave of sadness hit me last night about hearing about the arrest and beating of Mona El Tahawy by the police on Mohamed Mahmoud street. She'd just arrived in Egypt the day before in order to be in Tahrir- just like I wish I could. It made me imagine being in her place. It made me think of how long we'd live under such a regime of terror and control. I was thinking of how even those of us who were never arrested, tortured, or even harassed by the police have always felt scared of that happening at some point.  They succeeded in instilling terror in people's heart from afar. It also made me think how my dad would probably never let me go to Tahrir in such circumstances if I were in Egypt, because he used to be a police officer and he knows quite well what they do. I felt more suffocated. Are we all going to be afraid forever? Those heros in Tahrir, men and women, have broken that barrier and I haven't yet.

I don't have much doubt that we'll eventually prevail- although I have my worries sometimes. At least I know that with such a stubborn and reckless generation, we'll never give up the fight. What I'm upset about is the insane amount of blood that was shed over the last week. I know it happened, but I'm hung up on that. Why did so many people have to die or lose an eye just became some arrogant dictators are clinging on to power so fiercely? How is it even possible that a government keeps killing and torturing its own people for a whole week without a sound from other countries, Arab or Western? Why do I have to check Twitter first thing in the morning to know if any of my friends is hurt? Why did the street where I went to college for four years turn into a war zone that I can't even recognize in photos anymore? Is it because some 80-year-old men think they'll never die? Being ruled by a bunch of killers who have blood on their hands is an entirely different game as opposed to being ruled by mere thieves.

Then I keep drawing on the amazing strength that my friends in Tahrir have and I remind myself they stand there after all the fighting with a lot of hope and a lot of encouragement. It makes me realize I'm crying because I want to be there in Tahrir, where the heart of Egypt now resides and beats. I don't just want to support Tahrir, I want to be inside it. I want to be with my friends whom I'm scared to death for. I want to touch the place, see every detail, and look those wonderful people in the eye. I am Tahrir-sick. And I listen to Moustafa Said singing: "يامصر هانت وبانت كلها كام يوم..." I'll be there soon, Egypt.

The Things We Always Go Back To *

- Dedicated to the Ezzat family boys

This post would have been more proper in Arabic, but I wanted to express myself fluently without being restricted by the rules of Arabic language. So I apologize to some of my friends who'd have preferred to see it in Arabic, especially Amr and Mahmoud :)

One day before the end of May 2010, I found one of my childhood friends on Facebook. I couldn't believe it and I started looking through his profile and, more importantly, his friends list in order to find his brothers too. Within minutes of frantic searching, I learned a lot about three of my favorite childhood friends. They are three brothers whose dad was one of my dad's oldest and best friends. This simply means we knew each literally from birth. The order went as follows: Amr was born in Dec 1980 (got to enjoy solitude for a while before we came along), Mahmoud was born in April 1984, I was born in April 1985, Moustafa was both in July 1985, and my brother was born in August 1987.

Moustafa, the youngest, was finishing off his six years of medical school to become a doctor very soon. My memories of him were of this chubby and funny kid we all loved to tease and joke with. I can even remember how his dad used to call him "akhoona el shoghayar" (our little brother) while laughing and teasing him about not being a good swimmer. Now he is a doctor and he's engaged!

Mahmoud, the middle brother, was in my class at school for 4 years before high school and used to be my closest friend out of the three. I used to love going over to their house in order for us to exchange the stories we wrote (yeah we wrote even back then!), play games, and just make noise all the time. I remember we used to spend the whole time talking, and I don't even know about what. At school, he used to tell people we're distant cousins, and later I found out he used to act as my secret bodyguard too. I found out that Mahmoud graduated from medical school but has then left medicine to become a poet and a writer! I was so excited about finding Mahmoud after so many years of wondering where he is now.

Amr, the oldest brother, had always been the most mysterious to me. I remember him always sitting alone whenever we went to visit and during our families' beach holidays together. He never laughed as much or talked as much as Mahmoud and I always did. I think he always thought we're too young and too noisy, although he's only 2-3 years older. I had also overheard scattered stories that my dad used to tell my mom about Amr getting into trouble with the police quite a few times, because of being involved with the Muslim Brotherhood during college. That was the last thing I knew of him. Facebook told me that Amr is a journalist now, although he studied engineering! I think to myself, "this family is too creative to be in conventional jobs!" On Amr's profile, I find a link to his blog. So I decide to take a look before sending him a friend request. After all, we never used to be very close.

I go to Amr's blog, and this is the first thing I see: http://mabadali.blogspot.com/2010/05/blog-post_19.html; a blog post about me and my family! I read it in complete disbelief and it sends a chill down my spine. I smile at the part where Amr describes our old building, my family, and me! He says I had bright black eyes and a loud laugh, and I think to myself that he doesn't know how much that changed now. When I reach the part about my mom, his memory of her during that birthday party, and her sickess, I have tears in my eyes. I remember that day they visited my mom. I remember feeling glad to see the nice and familiar face of Amr's mom in the middle of all the confusion and pain, although I wished they'd come over before. I secretly hoped they'd visit again and keep me company, but they never did.

Reading the whole thing gives me a mix of strong emotions that I haven't experienced for a while. I keep staring at the page in surprise. What are the odds that Amr writes that and then I find it by complete chance a few days later as if I knew about it? Just a few days before that, I'd been thinking I lost of my old friends, because of time, distance, or other reasons. I missed the familiarity and the comfort of having a very old friend who knows exactly where you come from and what your life is like. I missed having a conversation with a close friend without having to explain the background to everything. I missed the person I used to be as a kid- spontaneous, fun-loving, and loud!

Without getting into the details of what happened after that and how we all got back in touch, suffice it to say that these three guys are an important part of my life again today. God knows I spent weeks after first finding that Facebook page just smiling most of the time and feeling grateful. So why is it so important for me to have childhood friends in my life?

Maybe it's because I've been disconnected from my cousins and extended family for the last few years. Or maybe it's because I've been living away from Egypt for the last 5 years- and I won't go back before 2013. Or maybe it's both. Maybe I'm just the kind of person that likes to have old friends around, to feel grounded and to remember my roots. However, there's something more to it than that.

There is just something heart-warming about talking to an old friend after being out of touch for 12 years and still feeling as if you met last month. There is something nostalgic about talking to them and knowing their house, which you remember quite well, hasn't changed much. Even complaining about your parents has a different feeling when you both know how your parents are really like. There is a sense of pride in knowing what you all have come through over the years, as if your own brother or sister did that and you feel glad. There is also something very sincere and pure about it all. You never doubt their intentions or the real reasons they are friends with you after all these years. You never think they might be lying to you about anything. You just know in your heart how much they care for you.

More importantly, I feel that I've regained a solid circle of support that goes way back into my past. Mahmoud is like a brother who can't stop teasing me and loves it, just like he was 15 years ago at school. When we reconnected, he literally wanted to know everything I've done since we last met until today- and he liked hearing the story! Sometimes I feel like we haven't lost touch during all those years. We both haven't changed much although we do very different things now. I could tell him anything and he'll be supportive and keep it a secret. He recently got married so I'm waiting for him to have kids because I have a lot to tell them about their dad.

Amr, on the other hand, has been the most pleasantly surprising part of this for me. We became friends right away, although we never were before. I guess we had a lot of common things to talk about. We often discussed living alone, broken hearts, friends, writing, music, and being different from what your parents would like you to be. If I want to know about any movie, author, or book, Amr will have an answer. He also acts as my political compass sometimes when it comes to what's going on in Egypt. Amr is the only one who consistently checks up on me ever since I moved to the US.

I can go on forever, but I want to say is how glad and grateful I am to have these friends in my life again. I also want to thank them for being there and for being so sweet, supportive, and caring. It has been definitely a great help in my life over the past year with everything I've been going through. May things always be this way!

* The title of this blog post is inspired by Amr's blog post title at http://mabadali.blogspot.com/2010/05/blog-post_19.html

The Steel and Glass City

For the last time, I head to the airport to fly home. It is 2 am on Sunday 5 June. The city seems too quiet and eerie. The weekend is over and people have to work the next morning. I feel like a stranger in the city, like the first time I visited. I see everything differently. It all  looks too bright and clean, too cold. Slabs of concrete on top of one another. Towers of glass and steel next to each other.

I wonder why huge buildings are lit up at this hour when nobody could possibly be inside. Office buildings are all totally deserted but they shine from a distance. The lights in Metro stations, which have closed hours ago, are all on too.  

There is a big billboard with several flood lights on it. The neon signs of many shops are on, even though those shops are closed. I can only think of how irresponsible and careless that is, of how much energy and money it costs on a daily basis. In a world where energy has become so expensive and even rare sometimes, some entire governments and companies still allow such extravagance just because it looks good, and because it simply doesn't matter to them. It is not because they can afford it though, they've long passed that point and they pay a lot for energy now. However, that doesn't seem to change their behavior. I drift off and randomly think that when I have my own company, I won't allow for the lights to be on after 9 pm.

In a way, I feel good about being alone at that moment and about leaving just before dawn. If I'd left during the day, I'd have been distracted by traffic and people. I feel good about leaving after 5 long years with a lot of experience under my belt- from all the good and the bad that has happened from day one till the last day.

It is only appropriate that I feel this way on my last few hours here. The whole week somehow felt like a remixed repeat of my life in Dubai during the first month I moved there. It proved to me I was never wrong about what I thought of the place from the beginning. It also meant I have nothing to regret and nothing to miss, not a single reason to look back. There're a few people to miss, but I know they will always be part of my life without me living in Dubai. On the other hand, it is much better to be away from most of the people I've met there.

Those 5 years showed me a side of human beings that I've never seen before and never thought existed. For a moment, I feel quite grateful for getting out of that place with a few scratches and no permanent damage- at least I hope so. 

Chronicles of A Revolutionary Egyptian Expatriate (1)

1 January 2011

I wake up a bit late. I was celebrating new year's with some friends at my house and night before and I went to bed quite late. First thing I do while still in bed is check Facebook from my iPhone. I see scattered comments and news on a church explosion in Alexandria! I read a bit and then I feel I need to see more. So I get up. My friend is still lying on the sofa bed outside and I tell her what happened. We turn on the TV and there's nothing on Egyptian stations. We keep looking while reading things from Facebook and various websites. It gets frustrating and I turn to Al Jazeera. Both Al Jazeera news and Al Jazeera Mubasher have the incident on. They showed scenes from the street where the church is and interviewed several people. They keep playing the same footage all day, as if reiterating the incident over and over again.

I feel utter shock and deep fear. I start following the news on twitter and reading everything I can. I look at the photos of the scene and some of the victims. Who could this? Who could mercilessly kill so many human beings for any reason whatsoever? Who has the indecency to do this on one of their holy nights as they pray? I could not comprehend it and the questions kept running in my head.
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I started to fear deeply for Egypt. Now Pandora's box has been opened. The christians are so angry, and they have the right to be. The Muslim government adds insult to injury by deciding to ignore the whole thing from its TV broadcasts, as if this will convince people nothing happened. Egyptian state TV keeps airing movies and songs as if this was a minor car accident on some road. The fire of sectarian strife has been kindled and nothing will be able to extinguish it.

Throughout the following two weeks, my thoughts continue. I see Mariam Fekry's profile on Facebook and read the words on her wall, and it makes me cry. I keep wondering who would do that and why. I watch her dad crying in a TV interview feeling utterly lonely and lost after the most precious people in his life were killed. My heart aches and I keep wondering why this happened.

One thing comes to my mind very strongly. The christians feel that the government let them down and failed to protect them. However, I feel like telling them Muslims get the same treatment. Yes, the incident was big. Yes, it was ignored in the media. Yes, the response from the government was kind of lame. But wasn't it also like that when people drowned in Al-Salam ferry? Wasn't it also like that when tons of people died in major train crashes every year? Wasn't it also like that when people burned inside the Beni Souef theatre? Apathy and absolute corruption do not differentiate their victims based on religion. The government simply does not care for ALL Egyptians. So why would we divide ourselves against them? Why would we turn to fighting each other instead?

I feel that a black hole has began and it can suck everything nice and good this country had. I imagine a country full of strife, hatred, corruption, and voilence, and it makes me feel so scared.
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To be continued...