In my Mind I am in Cairo

  
I could not sleep last night.  I was so frustrated by the lack of television coverage in the U.S. about what is happening in Egypt that I had to stay up until 2 a.m. looking at all the images and videos I could find on Facebook. I felt physically ill thinking of those brave protesters in Tahrir (Liberation) Square fighting off rubber bullets and tear gas.

This morning, I woke to the same lack of coverage and instead of working out at the gym, sat in the locker room reading emails from friends and colleagues in Cairo trying to cover this story—a difficult task when the government defends itself by interrupting phone and internet services.

Predictably, I read this morning that the ministry had outlawed any further demonstrations. Of course, they did. But the protesters are back, still fighting, according to friends on Facebook, gathering now outside the journalist's syndicate building.

I know I should feel happy we are safely back in America, but I wish more than anything we were there to support them. This had to happen. It was inevitable.

Living there, the political oppression is as thick as the dust that blankets the crumbling buildings, overgrown trees, potholed streets, abandoned cars, and feral animals that landscape Cairo.  Like heavy snow, it paralyzes the country.  Every corner, or in our case every other building in the embassy rich neighborhood of Zamalek, is guarded by young policemen staring out blankly from worn, wool caps, their hands lightly touching the guns in their holsters.

Take away the top hotels for visiting tourists, the wealthy expatriate neighborhoods, and the upper middle class that flourishes from government contracts, and Cairo is, at its heart, a city of poverty. A place where families seek shelter in graveyard mausoleums and the educated youth cannot find jobs.

While we were living there, friends commented on how cheerful my blog always was about Egypt. Though I lied about nothing I concealed a lot, paranoid about my fuzzy landline which fellow journalists told me was routine wiretapping, and suspicious of the wonderfully friendly man who seemed to watch our every movement from a corner. With one in every four Egyptians said to be an informer, who could blame him if he was one?  It was, after all, a job. 

I watch these protesters from a distance with pride. I only wish I was there to cheer them on in their struggle. Because under all that dust, is a breathtakingly beautiful country that deserves a clean start.

 

 

 

Comments

[belstaff outlets jacken]

It's great to hear from you and see what you've been up to. In your blog I feel your enthusiasm for life. thank you.