Ch - Ch- Changes

It's time for some changes around here.

* * * 

Looking outside my window, I see we are in the middle of a presidential election here in Egypt. There are signs for candidates on everything. Their smiling faces photo-shopped over images of construction and a prosperous Egypt.  Posters that look almost home-made plastered on cars, bill boards, flying over the each square and fountain at each round-a-bout.

The polling is finished and a runoff between the top two contenders is sure... but not before some of the candidates challenge the first polling with irregularities and whatnot.

Oh it's complicated, but maybe not that complicated. And it is changing. The revolution hasn't made it all better yet, but it's changed the country. It seems people are starting to understand that it's going to take some time, but they are still impatient. One of the more outspoken Egyptian bloggers seems to have a pretty good idea about what's going on here... here's a link to his latest rant (definitely worth the read).

* * *

If you were outside looking into my window, you'd see that in the next three weeks we're leaving Cairo. We're off to the next adventure. There will be a short pause between family installations, but this little home we've known is gettin' stuffed into boxes as we speak.

I'm not sad this time. I don't have the nostalgia of having worked or invested much emotionally here - which is funny because it's been one of the most emotional times of my life (having a baby and all).

* * *

They say babies change fast, but this is ridiculous! In the past week my new baby son has learned to crawl, to sit up from laying or fall down to sitting, and to pull up to standing and cruise around. I've enjoyed watching him discover gravity and friction and gyroscopes.

And he got his first two teeth.

* * *

In other news, which is not a change: I am entering the Foundling Review's Pachas 50 word short story contest again. (That's the writing contest in which I got honorable mention in last year.)

I'd been told that my writing has good imagery, but needs to be worked more. So, since the first Pachas contest, I've chosen another number (i.e. not 50) and am re-writing several old poems I had written. I find the word limit (not more, not less) is fitting to force me to whittle down and shape some of my pieces and make them better. I've also done away with the line breaks on some. I must not be good at line breaks yet because I think that they often come across as pretentious.

* * *

One year more... or less

One year on from the revolution of January 25th here in Egypt.

We asked
the delivery guy
if he was going
to Tahrir square.
He said
"No, this is not
the time to go to the square.
This is the time to work.
Halas."

* * * 

What's on the roof?

Roofs are more interesting in Egypt than at home.

In the US, roofs are mostly gabled. We might have tar paper or shingles or skylights, and in some cases even solar panels - but that's about as interesting as it gets.

Roofs that I've seen lately are flat and much ado is had upon them. A lot of buildings are half built... (speculation as to why: Did they run out of money? Do they leave them like that for tax reasons? Is it just the normal pace of construction?) ... and the top floor of a half built building is a lot like a flat roof.

In Syria I mentioned the satellite dishes, nestled across every bare square inch of rooftops, searching for the mother ship. In Damascus they changed the law and now there is just one dish per roof. More developed? I say, not as interesting.

In Egypt there is no such law. Roofs are littered with soft circles of all sizes as far as the eye can see, gazing towards ArabSat or NileSat, sucking in billions of channels. A half built building with no heating or windows will already have the dishes starting to sprout.

On our roof there is an elevator motor house, some water tanks, satellite dishes, a sunny sitting area, and a picnic area with a stove and some decrepit stationary bicycles. On a clear day you can see the big pyramids across the Nile. I would enjoy it more except that it is extremely dusty.

The staples of an Egyptian roof are (of course) the aforementioned dishes, the water tanks, and bird houses. We have speculated about the bird houses. Are they for foul (roof-top livestock)? Are they for the swarms of pigeons that seem to occupy them anyhow? Do people hang out in them? It seems people put a lot of care into them. Designs and gay painting. Large structures of wood.

I have simple dreams. I'd like to visit one of these exciting roofs.

Next page

Be forewarned, some not so PC phrases and four letter words will ensue shortly.

* * *

Tahrir square is full again. Is gassed again. Is exaggerated again.

Elections started in Egypt on Monday. It's complicated. This infographic tries to explain the election process. There are party candidates or individual candidates, professional or worker seats, and about 19.000 symbols for each one. To me it seems even more fucked up than our own dear electoral college (which is retarded). I mean not fucked up in an evil way, but in a confusing way. Why do people come up with crazy election processes? Just get the people to vote, count the votes, and majority wins. Maybe it can't be that simple, but it also doesn't need to be quite so complicated (and I'm not just talking about Egypt here).

I've been following these elections and those in the Democratic Republic of Congo on the Twitter. Well, all those Egyptian activist complaining about irregularities here should check out the Congo scene.
People died.
Just sayin'.

* * *

Inspiration comes from other bloggers. My friend T. over at About the Bees blog just had a baby boy too, and she's blogging.  On the other hand, J. over at Tales from the Hood seems to have let it go.


I've been busy or lazy, depending on your perspective. Thinking about these two respectable folks motivates me a little.

Not to be like them, but to be like them.

To say something despite my new found obsession (i.e. my son) and to say it until I've said it so many times in so many different ways that I am done saying it.

* * *

Sum of a summer

They've been calling it The Arab Spring.
It is turning onto summer.
Sunshine. Stagnation. Stifling heat.

* * *

Egypt is hard to characterize. Even those speaking loudest ask themselves questions: "Are we socialist?" or "Are we liberal?" or "Are we secular?" or "What do those terms even mean?" or "What do we believe in?" Exciting to define political parties and hope for elections, but difficult to imagine what is coming together from a million directions.

Sporadic art exhibit in the metro station near Tahrir.

Protests persist, sporadic and punctual - though last Friday was particularly large and specific. The peoples pressure continues from that iconic focal point of Tahrir square. Tents are up and staying, flags, talk of hunger strikes.

Without taking sides, I say this is a good thing. Change won't happen by the revolution itself. Or another way to look at it is that maybe the revolution, as an event, was A change; but defining THE change is gonna take a while and a lot of work.

* * *

Most people haven't seen their lives change yet. There are not more jobs or higher pay. This shouldn't surprise anyone.

Inequality can be subtle or blatant, but it's always there.

There is a man who by day sits in front of the metro station under a bit of shade from a tree. He sells lettuce. His spot is washed and cared for. He has 4 healthy basil plants that he sets out to outline his spot. He sleeps there.

There is a man and his son who have a cart and donkey. They sell tomatoes, potatoes, peppers and onions. Their cart is clean, they have a scale, the donkey is skinny. They move about calling constantly a repetitive song announcing their arrival.

There is an old man, fat and content, who has a small shop that he locks at night. He sells 3 kinds of lettuce, 2 kinds of eggplant, 3 kinds of onions, 2 kinds of garlic, fennel, celery, spinach, potatoes, sweet potatoes, zucchini, squash, rocket, herbs, about a dozen kinds of seasonal fruit, eggs, and often he has frozen shrimp or whitefish fillets. He has some refridgeration. His son does most of the work, with their 3 other employees. The older man sits in his chair, says hello to everyone and smokes.

There is a shiny mall with 6 floors and a 3-D cinema. In the mall is a huge supermarket. The vegetables are frozen and wrapped in plastic. They are all imported.

* * *

My last 2 lessons in Arabic class were the most useful so far (this will tell you something about what I do with my time these days). We learned the numbers and about the vegetable seller. How to say "Where is my change?" and all the fruits and vegetables. I still suck at speaking Arabic, but with this lesson under my belt I am really going to impress the fat man and his son.

I've been out of the academic environment for almost 10 years now, but when I was there I was a nerd: I always had good marks, maybe not #1 every time, but top 3, top percentiles on standard tests. I was never outrightly arrogant about it, but B's upset me and I just always expected myself to be at the top.

But alas, we grow up and have to learn things that are more useful than calculus or physics. Like new languages.

Learning French in the Peace Corps, I was the worst, or at least bottom 3 (at least I stuck to my pattern there). Today I am learning Arabic at the American University and I suck. Suck. SUCK.

Humility is good for the soul and has a practical purpose as well. Re-evaluating priorities. Physics happens weather or not I understand it, but can I purchase a head of lettuce?

* * *

Why ask why?

First advice I received from Mario upon arrival to Egypt: "Do not ask why."

Of course, my response was: "Why?"

The response to me was: "Yes."

* * *

Depending on where I am going in Cairo, I take a taxi or the metro. I like the metro better because it is such a good deal! A taxi ride is cheaper than in the states (maybe 10$ across town, only 5$ to downtown), but it is still more than the metro. The metro costs 1 Egyptian pound, about 20 cents. 

The metro has lady cars, which is nice. Ladies can ride anywhere, but men can't ride in the lady car.

* * *

There is a 15-20 minute walk from my house to the metro station. It's a nice walk, but no matter where you go outside the air pollution gives you black bougers. Sidewalks exist - but it is like that old conundrum... we park in the driveway, and drive on the parkway. 

In Cairo, cars park on the sidewalk and folks walk in the street.

In my Quest for Why? I have come up with a hypothesis. 

The sidewalks are about a foot high off the street (that's almost up to my knee). So, as you are walking along and the sidewalk ends (for a cross road or what not), you have to make this big ass step down (KER-PLUNK) then a big step up on the other side (ooOOF). I know I am not the only lazy walker on Cairo streets, because many people have set up little rag-tag pieces of rubble to make an intermediate step.

* * *

As it is in traffic, on the metro, it is not uncommon to see people that walk through the cars selling things you might need. Band-aids, gum, coloring books, blow up guitars, phone credit, stickers. Sometimes the seller will yell out his/her wares, sometimes he/she will throw them in everyone's lap only to make another lap around the car to collect them all back, sometimes they are real sales people with a show.

One day I was sitting (rare) on the metro with my Ipod listening to This American Life watching this Egyptian life. There were two ladies selling household items like hangers, knives, shower curtains, loofas and what not. They apparently were quite good because people kept laughing as they talked about their merchandise and demonstrated the practicality of the loofa on a rope to scrub your back.

And they had potato peelers. 

An old, large woman in a black hijab at the back of the car beckoned to the young ladies, she was interested. The saleswoman showed her the item: high quality, she assured her. There was a thin, Coptic woman next to the old woman. The thin woman reached in her bag, pulled out a potato and handed it to the older woman to try out her peeler. 

* * *

As for the revolution. I need not speculate on what will happen in the future, but today the revolution has affected the metro. 

As in many metros around the world, in the cars there is a schematic map of the stations along the line. There once was a station called "Mubarak."

First, the station name was scratched out, as if with a boys pocketknife or with a marker or a ball point pen. 

Then, home-made stickers appeared in some cars, with a new name. 

And now a law has been passed to officially rename it. 

Oh the wonders of democracy.

* * *

So why ask why? 

Because sometimes there is an answer.

Because sometimes it is entertaining.

Because sometimes no answer is really just a million answers.

Magic Carpet Ride

After a serious bout with the much heralded aid-worker affliction of righteous indignation, demonstrated in my last post, I will embrace my inner hypocrite and tell you about my visit to Tahrir Square. In my defense (or how I have satisfied my moral dissonance with "revolution tourism"), the Egyptian people have already won their battle.

In all seriousness, it is one of the most amazing events I have ever witnessed, up there with babies being born. Here is one of those iconic images I took on my own camera (which yesterday I mocked).

* * *

Some friends had gone down to Tahrir Square last night, just after the president stepped down, handing power to the military. They had been on the square during the protests for work, and they were really impressed by the change in vibe. Before it was full of tension and edgy, after it was full of joy and smooth.

Saturday morning, I hopped on the Metro and finally got out of Maadi. The ticket monitor dude sat on his chair, looked at me and said "Welcome!" waving the laminated Egyptian Flag hanging from his chest. I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

My fellow metro riders were also headed downtown to Tahrir square. Many people carried brooms and mops and buckets and plastic gloves.

* * *

From a balcony about 2 blocks from Tahrir square I checked out the traffic. Not unusual in Cairo, but this time full of Egyptian flags waving out the windows and the horns were a little better coordinated into
Beeeeeeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep.
I was pretty overwhelmed, even from 2 blocks away.

As we entered the fantastic fray, back at street level, black and red and white swarmed around me.

* * *

I love hippies: old hippies, young hippettes, dirty hippies, but they ain't got nothing on Egyptians today. The joy and good will felt on Tahrir Square today was deep and genuine and unpretentious as I have ever seen.

Everyone was cleaning as they had demonstrated. Everyone. Women, men, kids. People passed out rubber gloves, garbage bags, brooms. Everyone scrubbing off the words, trash already gone, even the dust that settled on the pavement was swept into dustpans.

If the same happened in New York or Nairobi or even a hippy-filled field in California, you would be left with a disgusting shit-filled mess with trampled grass and flowers. Not here.

The dignity and pride of this movement. It has been Civilized from start to finish, it seems.

There was violence, but very little and it was short lived. Many tried to incite more, but that didn't work very well. Everyone expected more. Each time there was a change, the media went on and on and on, speculating about how it could break down, always surprised when it was okay. Communication was completely blocked, but that too was short lived. For the most part, the military respected the peoples legitimate right to protest and the people respected the military.

* * *

One man brought his 3 young sons to Tahrir square on Saturday, maybe aged 6 to 11 or so, dressed in military uniform. He got a lot of smiles.

One group of young man had a sign and chanted something like "With Mubarak's money I can get afford to get married!" An old woman laughed and joked with him. I imagined she said something like "You're still too ugly to marry my daughter, ha ha ha", but really I have no idea what she said.

Dolled up young women, in their best head scarves in the color of the flag, glamorous JLo sunglasses, shiny shoes. Flirting with the boys wearing cleaned leather jackets.

The iconic images of this event were still there, like where a guy had opened up the light post, connected his wires and with a multi-plug, 15 phones were charging at once. Youth on the square with thier laptops out. More flip phones than I have ever seen.

The military men threw candy at the crowds. This reminded me of the Coast Gaurd Santa Ship that would throw candy to the old dock on the island where I used to live.

* * *

As we walked among the back streets, off the square, we continuted to think of Cautious Optimism. Businesses were opening. The streets were being cleaned. People sat in plastic chairs drinking tea and smoking sheesha.

The McDonalds, where on the 25th I had taken refuge when the riot police started marching, has been destroyed. I thought of the McDonalds Indicator of civil strife mentioned in a previous post and decided I would monitor the situation.

I have talked to people a little. The nutritionist and trainer at my gym are worried about the future. A businessman downstairs says he is optimistic for the future. The people on Tahrir square don't seem to have thought that far a head yet. 

Another side that I should share is that people have said that yes, the president needed to change, but that the way he was forced out lacked dignity, that he deserved more respect, that he had done a lot for the country in the past.

80 million people. 80 million perspectives. 80 million futures.

* * *

So there I was.
So I was there.

I am so lucky.

To the right you see, from back to front: burnt out NDP headquarters, cranes in front of the museum, the crowd, veiled women, proud man, sarcastic white woman.

* * *

What lies a head will be interesting and exciting here. The region is on fire. I just hope it is good.

Revolution 9

(I don't think John or Yoko will mind if I put their lyrics out of order... sort of their point wasn't it?)

(Editorial note added after: Why is Revolution 9 more appropriate to this Egypt today than Revolution? The song Revolution is before the action, almost mocking it - but Revolution 9 is clearly after the action and dealing with the chaos and the pieces and the potential of change.)

* * * 

Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine

Take this, brother, may it serve you well
Maybe it's nothing
What, what oh...
Maybe, even then, impervious in London [Cairo]
...Could be difficult thing...
It's quick like rush for peace because it's so much
Like being naked
It's alright, it's alright, it's alright, it's alright

* * *

The incessant horns of traffic have been tuned into an anthem for today. The conductor is blind and invisible. Two long and three short blasts.
Beeeeeeep Beeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep

I am privledge to have witnessed this event. And not from my balcony, but from street level.

I met a friend at the metro station and we walked to a cafe to have a sheesha and a tea. We chatted over the loud television about the media, about how people want to go back to normal, about how incredible it is. We watched people walk by. There was a quick address, in arabic, so we kept talking - then everyone cheered. We asked for a quick translation.

"He left."
"He is no longer president?"
"Yes. The army."

Firecrackers, I say. My friend thinks it's celebratory gun fire next door. We will never know, but celebratory it is indeed. That's when the cars started honking, rolling by. Where their Egyptian flags had been stuck in windows, they were now being waved by youth hanging out of moving cars.

I walk the 20 minutes back home, the
Beeeeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep continues with flags and cheers, punctual but repeated.

At the small roundabout just after the train track, for the first time I have ever seen, the fountain was flowing and lighted. I jump and laugh at myself as a young man throws fireworks in the air.

* * * 

But what now? Wow, this will be interesting.

We are smiling large pumpkin grins with a shadow of

Cautious Optimism. 

This is not Africa, we say. 

Tongue in cheek, but it's true.

* * *

  There was not really enough light to get down,
And ultimately (...) Slumped down
Suddenly...
They may stop the funding...
Place your bets
The original
Afraid she'll die (...)
Great colours for the season
 

Number nine, number nine

* * *

So, I will update quite a bit in the next few days.
Until then, please check out this interview of me on a Seattle rogue podcast show (The Marty Riemer Show). He wanted to talk to me about Egypt, about what the people are saying. I didn't really want to talk about what Egyptians are saying. I guess I see his point of view, it IS interesting, but they are saying it themselves and I thought asking me was sorta lazy.  After the interview I wrote him an email, but I don't think he mentioned it on later shows. That's fine, I still dig him and his show. Check him out if you are from the area.

Here's a sorta wordy excerpt of my sorta wordy email:

"Howdy Yaz, Marty et al.

It is a really romantic idea to go join the protests here in Cairo, (to get out as you said... )
to go collect some iconic pictures on my own camera,
to be one with the people, to make history, and to yell
"Viva la revolution!" (preferably in a sweet spanish accent)
or "Down with zee facists!" (preferably in a sweet french accent).

But it is actually a stupid, not a romantic, idea for me to do that.

Foreigners like me have nothing to offer these protests: it is theirs and should remain by and for Egyptians. It is not my place. In fact, by participating I could undermine their message. By trying to interpret their message I could also undermine it. Their message is getting out by "real journalists" and by their own voices (esp. online), i.e. not by me. 
By the way- you can get an Al Jazeera English app for your smart phone that streams it live  (... and if THAT is not available from Comcast, then maybe our own government should be over thrown... ha ha ha.)

Sorry, I know there are a lot of activists and politically active people out there (a lot of them are my friends and probably your listeners) ... It is good, important and there is a place for that sort of activism. But it is not my style, nor appropriate here. You see, I find it a bit pretentious when privileged white people pretend to "feel the pain" of the less fortunate. I am a privledged white person and I try not to pretend to be anything else. We all want to help people (usually for selfish reasons, in fact, but that's another debate) but sometimes,
the best way to help someone is NOT by protesting with them
and NOT by running down to watch them for our own entertainment and awe,
but by doing nothing.

In Cairo, they don't have any need for me (a privileged, sarcastic, white lady) right now and THAT is exactly what makes these events so powerful and extraordinary - even for my fruit dude.

Take care and I'll keep listening. Love your show.
Maybe after this settles down, I'll have another perspective (a real one) to show you... if you like. I haven't made it to the pyramids yet, but I heard they smell like piss."

* * *

Number nine, number nine
Who's to know?
Who was to know?
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine
I sustained nothing worse than (...) 

* * *

Beeeeeeeeep Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep Beep Beep Beep

has replaced the gunfire that started this and it sounds like cautious optimism.

Blinded by the night

there is no sand storm
despite yellow stained rays
creeping up the side of shaky skyscrapers
leaning on poorly built lintels
cracked re-bar exposed
under thick un-mortered walls

* * *

So, in the last post I didn't say it explicitly. But here we are, I must... Heisenberg and Bias. Check out the old post, if you haven't yet or if you are new.

* * *

Last night was really incredible. Of course I mention how peaceful it has been, and then it explodes. Do I keep my mouth shut now?

I will not speculate on Why or How or Motivations or Timings of the clashes. I admit that my view of Tahrir square is from 10 km away.

The pro-government protesters approached the square where the anti-government protesters have been for the past week. They charged on foot, on horseback, on camels. A lot of things were thrown by both sides, rocks, sticks, "gas bombs" or molitov cocktails. The front between the two groups shifted back and forth, back and forth as they pushed each other. It was impossible to tell who was who. People got onto roofs. Throwing off chairs and other things.

There was a line of 3 trucks that had no drivers. They were used as a front line, a shield for both sides. They were pushed and moved as the tide of the line moved back and forth.

But that was last night... today is today... now is now... and when you are reading this it will be later.

* * *

Reputable news agencies in this end of the world keep asking leading questions. Interviewing one side only. Using inflammatory language.

There are 80 million people in this country and probably 80 million sides. I guess they can't get to everybody, but maybe more than one would be nice.

* * *

Ego update: Lots of hits on this here humble blog in the past few days. Leave me some comments here! I would love to hear what you like and don't like.

Pollution Revolution

“There is a fine line between freedom and chaos,” the president said.

I promised first impressions of Cairo. Well, it is an interesting time to get some first impressions. It has been a week since the protest started and I am fascinated. I am also frustrated because I am not working, I am not out there and I have to stay indoors a lot.

Adoring Robert Fisk does not make me an expert on the Middle East.
This post is not about the region or the politics itself, just my observations.

* * *

Backdrop

I was going to write about the civilized pollution of 20 million people in the air, in the river, blowing noise in your ears. Street exhaust turns my snot black, yet this city noticeably lacks the scent of piss. A blue toilet ended up on the bank of the Nile, but I have not seen a single turd. Under the eerie orange tinted sun, like a solar eclipse, the never ending din of traffic horns is maddening.

I was going to write about the pulse of 20 million people. I walked upstream, south along the corniche, passing resters on benches along the Nile under shade trees. I visited some old churches like a tourist. I wandered through tiny streets filled with baby goats where the dust is packed neatly by old women (still a foreigner, but less of a tourist). I went to the movies at a shiny mall and saw “6 7 8”, a new Egyptian masterpiece about another type of revolution.

I was going to write about how I like this city, but it seems that this here revolution could be more interesting.

* * *

Timeline

The work week in Egypt is Sunday to Thursday. Sunday and Monday were calm and were spent moving into our new apartment.

Tuesday was Police Day and the day it started; a holiday for the country, a day off from work for all, but protests ensued and so the police did not get their day off.

Wednesday I went into town to register for a continuing studies class in Arabic at the American University. Riot police blocked several streets and intersections; it was calm, but tense and they didn’t bother me. I found the metro station on the main square (Tahrir Square) was closed, so I walked south about 10 minutes to the next station and went home.

Thursday, protests continued downtown. I stayed out of the way and successfully explored my new semi-suburban neighbourhood.

Friday was my wedding anniversary. Mario and I had planned a romantic dinner along the Nile. Friday was named the Day of Rage (or Anger ... lost in translation) because the people had planned mass protests after Friday prayers.

Friday evolved somehow sublime, slow and sneaky; filtered by 10 km of city between our suburb and downtown, filtered by our  suburban expatriate sphere, filtered by the television.
The cell phone network went down.
Then the internet, but not the land-line.
Then we tried the sat phone and it was jammed.
Then a curfew was imposed across the country, announced at 5:30 pm and started at 6:00.
The vegetable seller sold me sweet potatoes, and as usual tried to push his broccoli, while he rushed me out and complained that because of the government he had to close his shop without proper cleaning. He would see me tomorrow, Insh’allah.

* * *

In the midst of this turmoil, protest, uprising, infatada, revolution - whatever you want to call it - Cairo is colourful, exciting, moving and incredible to observe.

* * *

Since last Friday, January 28th, the situation changes quickly, yet a steady rhythm has developed in the turmoil: in the movements of people, in the news, in the sounds of gunfire. The rhythm is somehow correlated to the curfew.

The curfew ends at 8 in the morning. As the week has progressed the curfew start time has been moved up from 6 pm to 4 pm, and yesterday to 3 pm.

When the curfew lifts, people start moving for the day. The first days everyone rushed the markets, stocking up and sounding a little confused; yesterday the streets were full of expatriates waiting on the corner for taxis with piles of luggage to get out; today the gym is open, banks are still closed and foreigners know if they are leaving or staying.

When the curfew starts the city shifts. People head home, but once you are in your own neighbourhood you can be outside freely. The neighbourhood men put back up their blockades, drag their sticks on the pavement clang, clang, clang; start their fires, put on the teapot for the nightlong watch.

During the first days, I was glued to the news constantly flipping between channels because it changed rapidly (Mario translating the Arabic channels). A week on, most of the exciting news is broadcast when the curfew starts until about 9 pm. Al Jazeera had their Cairo offices shut down, some of their reporters arrested (who have since been released) and cameras confiscated, and so their coverage has become a bit more sporadic and less deep.

During the first days, there was little or no gunfire in my neighbourhood at all. Then some throughout the night and then a lot throughout the night. Yesterday, there was less throughout the night but more during the day. Last night was quiet, as is this morning. It is not a civil war, not people shooting at each other, per se. It seems to be people shooting in the air as warnings. At first it was smaller arms, then a bit of automatic fire.

* * *

The most iconic scene has been of the crowds of protesters at prayer time. A chaotic mass of people organically arranges itself in neat lines facing Mecca, all the while standing and kneeling in unison.

But don’t misinterpret the image. These are not religious protests; it is simply that the majority of people in Egypt are Muslim, so they pray as such and do not miss a call.

* * *

In my opinion, the lack of violence so far is astonishing. Yes: tear gas was fired, people have looted, people have been shot, people have been beaten. Not to minimize that, but it is a lot less than it could have been.

During the first days (when the riot police were present) were the worst so far in terms of violence - a dangerous, impulsive, edgy energy prevailed - but even then, the riot police did stop hitting when the protesters retreated.

The police disappeared after the first days. The army has been a constant presence.

The interactions of the army and the protesters is amazing. Tanks are everywhere downtown, they come and go, but the protesters and people welcome them. The tank drivers don’t fire on the people and respect their legitimate “right to protest”. There are official statements by the state as to this. There are slogans spray painted on the tanks. The tank drivers and protesters shake hands.

The ruling party’s headquarters were set on fire, next door to the famous Museum of Antiquities. In the beginning, protesters joined hands around the museum to protect it from the fire and looters until the army arrived.

Preserving order and protecting private property in light of chaos has fallen upon the people somewhat. Neighbourhoods have set up “vigilante groups” - a bad translation I think - they are more like a very active neighbourhood watch. Each night they stand guard with sticks, metal rods and some guns. Looking down my long street I can see about 6 stations, where the men have pulled concrete blocks into the road, moved the garbage cans into the street. Cars cannot pass. Walking people, like myself, are not hindered. (Although I have to admit, I live in a nice neighbourhood.)

“Vigilante groups” are not the same a “thugs”. The deciphered Arabic to English vocabulary of Egypt is delightful, fascinating and surprising sometimes.

* * *

It is important to understand that there are several types of security forces. As far as I can gather, the police are under the Ministry of the Interior and the military is separate (Ministry of Defence?). Both command a certain kind of respect: The police are feared, and the military is revered.

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One of the first interviews I saw was with a young woman from the American University in Cairo. She came across as cold, but informed and clear headed. When asked to describe the street scenes, she said something like “Today, in the streets I saw more blood than I have ever seen. More than in the movies.” And she smiled.

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When it is in front of you, it is easy to see the difference between reality and what is in the media. I am not a skeptic, but I am skeptical.

Sensational sexy stories sell: Camera angles make crowds look bigger. The most graphic images are played and re-played. The most violent quotes are iterated and re-iterated. The most shocking stories are told and re-told.

Control can check conception: Images and facts can also be manipulated to minimize the situation. Numbers and can be misconstrued or can be absolute lies propagated on purpose.  Images of streets with no crowds
present can also be played and re-played.

It is not black and white. And it is not simple. The scene is always shifting greys, with colours fading in and out depending on the angle from which you view the scene (or the quality of your webcam). Each exaggeration or downplay is based on reality, or rather someone’s vision of reality, or rather what was once reality.

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There are some journalists who give and command respect; who are rational and neutral in their use of language, tone and facts. There are also some journalists who employ 'Jerry Springer' style reporting (and indeed they are on reputable stations, during non-editorial shows). They are on both sides.
They threaten the integrity of the action and seem to want to incite violence and anger and emotions.
And they make me sick.

As the government has been dissolved and ministers step down, some reporters have used the word “defect” instead of “resign”.

A woman interviewing a government representative interrupted him at least 5 times, never let him finish a sentence and screamed at him. “... these are not mobs. Men, women and children.”

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I don’t have photos of the protests for this post. I am neither a journalist rushing for a story, nor a foolish idealist who thinks my presence is needed to enhance the voice of the Egyptian people. I have simply observed them from walks in calm areas, from my balcony and rooftop, through television and through conversations.

Now people are talking about economics. Stock market closed. More practically, banks are closed and ATMs are out of money.

As I write this, there is a stand off. No one is moving on either side. What’s next?

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At the top of this blog, you will find a favourite quote of mine, which in context has nothing to do with Egypt, but out of context can be appropriate today.