Lost on the revolutionary road in Egypt

The email took me by surprise. Egyptian Tourism was inviting a handful of journalists to be part of a delegation that would travel to Egypt for a week. The reporter’s task would simply be this: “To give a balanced and true picture of Egypt post a political movement and the efforts the country is making to bring itself back on its feet.”

Squeezing itself in an itinerary of expected destinations such as Sharm al Sheikh and Luxor was Tahrir Square. Apart from meetings with the minister of tourism, the email dangled the carrot of rendezvous with leaders who led the January 25 uprising.

This had all the makings of revolution tourism mixed with a little sight-seeing for souvenir hounds. It didn’t take much to have me secretly excited, and the next thing I knew I was on a Cairo-bound flight.

Fishing around for something to read in my oddly comfortable economy class seat, I was left with Egyptair’s in-flight magazine and a copy of a local Egyptian daily, The Egyptian Gazette. While the glossy cover of the magazine invited passengers to “come explore” Tahrir Square, the front page of the newspaper was monopolised by a story about how a night-long protest in Tahrir had gone wrong. The army had stormed the square and killed two demonstrators. The imploring email came to mind again — “Please be assured that this is the right time to visit Egypt.” They couldn’t possibly have been more on the ball.

A thousand revolutions
The first thing that you notice about Cairo is the traffic. With cars queuing up on streets like shopping carts in a supermarket, the enforced slowness can help one soak in the city more. I find myself constantly on the search for signs of relative unrest, but the route that our bus takes seems to be upheaval-free. While on the way to the pyramids of Giza, the group decides to quiz Mahmoud, our host-cum-guide. How would he explain the events that have taken hold of Tahrir? “It’s the counter-revolution. The people at Tahrir — they are followers of Hosni Mubarak who want to destroy Egypt even more,” he says.

Mahmoud’s laptop was stolen the week before. “Something has changed in my country. This would never have happened in the past,” he says. I decide to press him further. I ask him about the events at Cairo University where students in the mass communications department were up in arms, demanding the resignation of their dean, a former Mubarak supporter.

Mahmoud’s frown grows deeper as he insists, “This is a personal demand. It does not put Egypt first. Girls are using this protest as an excuse to stay out after ten and have relationships with boys. This is not right. These days everybody is starting a revolution.”

I take a second-row seat for the sound-and-light show at the pyramids. Though in awe of the structures against the backdrop of a moonlit sky, I am admittedly a little bored of the dramatic narration which chronicles a long succession of kings, queens, invasions and foreign rule. One thing comes through in this crash course in Egyptology: though Egypt has been no stranger to harsh autocratic rulers, it’s no stranger to cataclysmic change. The question I’m left with is how will the country cope with its recent transformation which seems to have left it strangely fractured?

Square of freedom = Chaos
The next morning, I remind Egypt’s newly appointed tourism minister of the images of men atop camels, riding into Tahrir Square, brandishing whips and swords. I ask if Egyptian society remains divided on pro and anti-Mubarak lines. Mounir Fakhry Abdelnour’s voice suddenly turns stern as he responds conclusively, “What happened in Tahrir Square wasn’t pro-Mubarak versus anti-Mubarak. It was the revolution versus thugs.” I find the display of conviction awkward, but Abdelnour clears the air with rejoinders such as “Everyone who comes to Egypt nowadays wants to first go to Tahrir Square.” We take our cue and impress upon our sponsors our desire to visit the new Mecca of Freedom as soon as possible.

We park our coach at a distance and are given strict instructions to stay together. As we enter, I notice a crowd converging around a man. I join the onlookers. He uses four props that include two bullet casings, a badge of Egypt, and a bottle green army shirt. Though it is impossible for me to follow the vociferously loud Arabic monologue, I can see he is making quite an impression on his audience. Some have started chanting the name of the Egyptian army chief and are yelling “Tantawi-Tantawi” with all the might their lungs can offer. In the distance, children are getting their faces painted with colours of the Egyptian flag. Excited youth are jumping on the carcasses of army vehicles set on fire only two days before.

Just as I begin to get used to the sight of men facing off against each other in an attempt to impose political opinions, I’m ushered out of the square. Our kind hosts have turned into hostile minders, leading us back to our coach with unmistakable aggression. Someone in the group had been asked what we were doing in Tahrir, whether we had a permit to be there in the first place.

Understandably, this is not the kind of free Egypt my handlers want in a brochure, let alone a newspaper in a land of willing travellers. But my 15-minute journey to the centre of the world makes one thing seem amply certain: all is not well in a land that is being sold as the newest kid on the democratic block.

The reluctant tourist
The days that follow are a mix of five-star living, hour-long flights and predictable sightseeing. Our first stop is Luxor, home to grand tombs, temples, and most importantly, the Nile. One afternoon, I find myself sitting in the corner of our hotel’s restaurant and am greeted by Michael, the steward. Over a cigarette, we get talking. The one change he still hasn’t gotten used to, he says, is the fact that he can now talk politics. “There was always a thin red line that you couldn’t cross. Always something that you could not say. Imagine what it must feel like to voice what you think. It’s like we had a cancer eating off our body for 30 years. We are cured now. We are free,” he adds.

He is smiling with an abandon that couldn’t be anything but genuine. It’s only when I ask him if I could go grab my pad and pen does his face drop a little. He asks me to meet him at 11 in the night. “That’s when I get off. We could talk then,” he promises. I reach the restaurant at the agreed time and lay my journalistic wares on the table. He greets me again, leaves me with an ashtray, and says he will be right back. He doesn’t return. Kicking myself for having scared him off, I return to my room wondering how free is free speech in a country where someone eager to talk politics runs for the door at the sight of a dictaphone.

Waiting for a connecting flight to Sharm al Sheikh the day after, I strike up a conversation with Eliza, a South African expat living in Egypt. She tells me that she was in the area around Tahrir a day ago and was caught up in a demonstration that left her arms and legs bruised.  “I won’t forget this for a while,” she says. “This boy had a spray can in his hand and he painted a wall with this message — ‘I want to see a new president before I die.’ Peeved that the action was unfolding elsewhere, I was further frustrated by the news that Mubarak’s two sons Alaa and Gamal were being arrested and shipped out of Sharm al Sheikh on precisely the day our troop of correspondents arrived. Hosni Mubarak himself had suffered a heart attack. After having spent two days ambling down the neon streets of a town made up entirely of plastic resorts, casinos and lush beaches, I was convinced that the only thing real here was my imagined portrait of Hosni lying in a hospital bed, saying, “God, what have I done?”

‘Losing my religion’
On my last day in Egypt, I decide to break away from the group and look up a common friend in Cairo’s Giza precinct. Atef Yousef, 48, is a doctor who works with addicts and AIDS patients. His apartment of carefully picked artefacts bears tasteful evidence of his Coptic Christian heritage. He introduces me to Hassan, his building’s porter. Hassan is from Aswan, the southernmost tip of Egypt. He says he found the entire business a tad strange. “Back where I come from, everyone applauded Mubarak when he was in power. And now, after the revolution, they’re cheering his downfall. I’d just like to ask, if this is how they really felt, why didn’t any of them say anything before?”

As we make ourselves comfortable on his sofas, Atef admits that living as a Christian under the Mubarak regime was rather difficult. “The government acted as if it had no religion, but Muslims were allowed to do what they liked. Burn down churches, kill and kidnap Christians, refuse licences for churches, and for every church that was built there would be an adjoining mosque with a higher minaret. But things were only difficult then; they are becoming unbearable now.” We talk of recent clashes between Muslims and Christians that saw a church being burned down in Cairo’s suburbs. He tells me that Islamic fundamentalists had recently chopped off the ear of a man who had leased his house to two women deemed to have a bad reputation. Art galleries, he informs, are being asked to shut down because some of the displays are considered un-Islamic. With these very Taliban-like factions now championing the cause of democracy, Atef fears a looming future of uncertainty. “I am not against people of any faith, but I am against violence. I used to be someone who was so optimistic, but now I can’t find that enthusiasm anymore. We thought the revolution would solve our problems but it has been stolen.”

With a flight to catch, I bid Atef a hurried goodbye. On the ride to the airport, I can’t help but concur with Egyptian Tourism’s advertorial tagline. Egypt is indeed ‘where it all begins’.