“I have come to terms with the fact that I will not see democracy in Egypt in my lifetime,” told me Egyptian publisher Hisham Kassem at the end of an interview for PBS’ World Focus in 2008.
I remembered those words as I heartily celebrated the fall of the regime in Tahrir Square on February 11th and I smiled to myself. I had come all the way from New York to be a part of the revolution, not expecting that the stubborn Egyptian President would step down while I was there.
“Why?” was the reaction I got when I told my friends and colleagues in the U.S. about my sudden decision to go to Egypt. Many assumed I was going as a reporter. I quickly and proudly responded that I was going as a “protester.”
Watching my country go through the upheaval on television screens was painful. Aspirations and enthusiasm were mixed with fear and concern for the future of Egypt and the safety of my family. The closest I got to being a part of it was by sharing with friends on Facebook. I was glued to the television and the computer for days on end. I ate little, slept little, worked little and spent little time with my two kids.
Every morning, before fully opening my eyes, I looked for the remote control and started searching frantically for a live picture of Tahrir Square, praying that it was still filled with large numbers of protesters. Thirteen mornings. Thirteen sighs of relief. I was never let down. My last one, on Tuesday February 8th, sealed it for me. I had to be there.
The night before, there were reports that numbers were dwindling. I watched pictures of Tahrir Square till late at night and was terrified that the end might be near. But the protesters, who had impressed the whole world with their courage and determination, managed to do it again and Tahrir Square looked magnificent the following morning.
It was a long shot, but I had to try. I quickly found a reasonably-priced ticket to Cairo, which was not difficult given that Egypt now wasn’t the hot tourist destination it usually is because of the unrest. I now had to convince my husband, which was challenging.
While many spouses might have objected to the trip based on safety or financial reasons, my husband was as supportive and passionate about the revolution, so we had a slightly different problem: he was jealous. “But I want to go,” he said. It was irresponsible for both of us to leave the children, so we decided I would go for four days and he would leave to Egypt a few hours after I return.
A close friend of mine, who has three kids herself, decided to join me. After an exhausting 15-hour trip, we finally landed in Cairo. My heart was pounding as the plane approached the tarmac. A thousand thoughts were going through my head. How different will Cairo look? Were there any developments during my long flight? But mostly: I can’t believe I am really here! I saw a few tanks on the streets here and there and tons of flags being sold, but other than that it was good old Cairo. I arrived home to news that Mubarak was about to make another statement. Could this be it? Is he going to step down? I had planned to go to Tahrir Square the following morning for the Friday protests, but I couldn’t sit still. In less than 15 minutes I was on my way to the now world-famous square.
“What a fun revolution?” as I walked around the square, where five stages were set up with different performances that included revolution music, poetry and speeches. Grilled corn and sweet potatoes and other Egyptian treats were sold left and right. I checked out a wall with colorful revolution art. There was a barber and even a lost and found section. The revolutionary signs were creative and often hilarious.
People were also smiling at me for no reason. I noticed they were smiling at each other for no reason. There was a sense of solidarity, of a common goal.
I felt recharged. I couldn’t stop smiling. And I didn’t want to leave.
By then, everyone had heard the news about the upcoming speech and expectations that Mubarak would step down were high.
I stood amongst a group of people around a loudspeaker that was connected to a radio to listen to the speech. We were all waiting for those few words “ I am stepping down,” but the more he talked, the more it became clear it wasn’t happening.
Mubarak’s message was provocative. He was insulting our intelligence by referring to his achievements when people had been calling for him to leave office for over two weeks.
Fifteen minutes into the speech, people around me got impatient and started responding angrily. Mubarak, did say that he was delegating responsibilities to Omar Soliman, but I doubt many heard it.
Protesters quickly broke into angry chants against Mubarak. I was too depressed to participate. I went home and it was one of the saddest nights of my life. I was worried that this was another trick to justify violence against the protesters the following day, but I was more determined than ever to participate.
The following morning, I woke up early like it was my first day of school. My mother even gave me sandwiches to take with me. It was a perfect sunny Friday. I arrived there early and found a spot close to one of the tents.
“He has been stepping on our pride for 30 years and now we have to care about his?” told me one of the young men occupying the tenst in reaction to those calling on them to leave the square, arguing that Mubarak’s speech the night before was a way for him to lose his powers with dignity.
I asked them what they expected now. They confidently assured me that Mubarak will step down. I felt we were in a stalemate, but I didn’t want to discourage them. Little did I know? Two hours later, and after 30 years, Egypt’s President did step down. I had never felt such joy. Never felt such pride.
Saturday morning, the air was fresh. The first Mubarak-less day.
It was time to clean up Tahrir Square. Equipped with brooms, garbage bags and cleaning gloves I proudly headed to the square to find there was little left to clean. The dust was swiped off the streets, every little piece of paper was being removed and every lamp post scrubbed. The energy amongst the people was remarkable. It was very hard to leave.
A few days later in New York, it was back to my remote controls and my keyboard. I sent Kassem, the Egyptian publisher, a message reminding him of our conversation two years earlier and congratulating him. We have a long road to democracy, he noted, but “this is the happiest time of my life.” It is the happiest time of mine as well. The road to democracy will probably be bumpy, but as I watch debates over the constitutional amendments and the possible presidential elections, I am filled with optimism about the future.
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