Kusa wa Warek

Sitting in a Starbucks, humming along to the Aretha Franklin song wafting out of the speakers (You make me feel like a nat-ur-al woman!), I could be in any city in America. When I walk out of this café, the impression remains. To my left, a gargantuan Zara entices with its stylish dresses and soft florescent lights. To my right, a Gap. The street my school is located near is called Sharia Wakalat and its pedestrian mall is laden with Western shops and restaurants. Down the street is a Safeway, the same store I bought all my groceries at when I was living in D.C. this summer. You can even buy Amy’s organic soup there. I know it is partly the neighborhood I’m in and also the fact that I have been here for less than a week, but most of the time I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m living in deep American suburbia. It doesn’t feel like the “third world” or a “developing country” (both of which Jordan is considered). It doesn’t even feel like what I now expect the Middle East to feel like. The cars are shiny and new, the price tags in stores seem to assume a salary of at least $30,000 a year, and the streets are clean and well maintained. The Jordanian Dinar is stronger than the dollar right now and all of a sudden I am back to being a broke student. Two weeks ago, if you had asked me which city was likely to be more Westernized, Amman or Cairo, I would have answered the latter with no hesitation. In a way, this highlights the inaccurate portrayal of the “Far East” that we are bombarded with by the American media. But even as a student studying the region, I expected a vastly different country than the one I have found myself in. Half a year before I was supposed to return to America and I think I am prematurely going through some form of reverse culture shock.*

For this reason, and many others, I am really glad I am living with a host family. Although fairly well off and also part of the mere 5% of the population in this country who are Christians, when I am with my Jordanian family I am able to retain a sense of being in the Middle East. They speak constant, rapid-fire Arabic, Jordanian TV is the backdrop to most of our daily activities, and they are a great source for learning about Jordanian customs.  And even though it is in a completely foreign country and it is people I have just met, it is a home. It feels like a home; cluttered but clean and comforting. It sounds like a home; with three children (a ten year old, a nine year old, and an eight month old) and a frequently visiting grandmother, there is rarely a quiet moment. It looks like a home; familiar faces and welcoming smiles greet me when I walk in the door. It smells like a home; every home has a distinct scent that lingers on your clothes and in your hair even after you leave. And boy, does it taste like a home.

Rowah, my host mother, is an excellent cook and despite having a demanding and time consuming job as a manager at a large pharmaceutical firm, she always makes sure there is food ready for me before I leave for school and when I get home. Hikmat, my host father, contributes a dish every now and then and even Hulla and Marrah (10 and 9, respectively) can often be found in the kitchen, mixing something up. Last night they proudly led me to the fridge to show me the dessert they had prepared (ground cookies mixed with water and covered in sprinkles) and we gathered around the living room table to eat the vegetable soup and fried potatoes they had made for us. And little brother Fadi brightens every room with his smile and laughter. A happy baby in a full kitchen does wonders for the soul. 

Both my host mother and father are Jordanian (an important distinction to make, as about half the population here is Palestinian) and so I have been treated to very classic Jordanian dishes since I arrived. I moved into the apartment on Thursday evening. Friday is the day off in the Middle East (like our Sunday) and lunch is the big meal in this culture. I woke up late Friday morning and wandered into the kitchen, where I found a big project underway. 

A huge metal bowl sat filled to the brim with vibrant green Kusa. I have never seen this vegetable in the United States (although I’m sure it is possible to find it) and it is most commonly translated here as zucchini (which calls to mind slightly inaccurate taste associations). After scouring the internet, I finally discovered that it seems to be most commonly called “Lebanese Squash” or “Lebanese Zucchini” in English. In my opinion, the taste is much closer to squash than zucchini. 

Also on the table was a big pot filled with vine leaves (Warek) and a huge platter of the stuffing that was to be wrapped in them. 

This stuffing is also what goes in the squash. It consists of cooked rice, margarine, uncooked ground beef, salt, and pepper. 

I sat down between to my host mother Rowah and my host sister Marrah and watched as they expertly rolled the vine leaves into perfect tiny packages of deliciousness. They showed me how and soon enough I was rolling along with the best of them! You start the process by putting a small amount of the stuffing at the base where the stem spreads into the blade. 

Next, you fold the side corners in over the stuffing, sort of like a burrito.

Finally, and this is important, you tightly role the leaf from the bottom to the top. If you don’t press hard enough or wrap it tight enough, it will come open while being cooked. 

Rowah prepared a huge pot, filling the bottom with chunks of fresh tomato, and piling the Kusa and Warek in layers to the brim. This particular cooking device is some sort of special steamer/press. She has promised to show me how it works sometime. 

This mixture is put on the stove and left to simmer and stew for an hour or so. When it is ready, you can cut through the Kusa like butter. With help from her husband Hikmat, Rowah dumped the entire pot onto a gigantic platter in the center of the table. 

Rowah served me a helping on a plate with some meat she had cooked separately, but only because I was still new to the household. 

The rest of the family simply sat around this huge circular serving dish with spoons and dug in. This is how most things in Jordan are eaten. This culture really brings a whole new meaning to eating “family-style!”

The Kusa can also be prepared in tomato and garlic stew, but I’m still a little vague as to what exactly all goes into it. I'll try to find out more and get back to you. Regardless, it is delicious. It is slightly stronger in taste than the other preparation and comes with the added bonus of a delicious sauce to dip your bread into!

*I’m certain I would have far greater “re-entry shock” had I returned home. A friend of mine and Fullbright Fellow who I went to school with in Alexandria, Ryan Fan, was just evacuated back to America on Friday, Febuary 4th. He did an excellent post on his blog about the difficulties in adjusting back to American culture. You can read it here. 

Mabruk, Ya Misr! (or Congratulations, Egypt!)

On Friday February 11, 2011, President Hosni Mubarak stepped down from the position of head of state that he had held for thirty years. Jubilation spread through the entire Middle East and fireworks illuminated the sky over the region. In Jordan, traffic came to a stand still as people poured onto the streets to celebrate. The joy was indescribable. The night before, when Mubarak had made his speech and NOT stepped down after a day of building up to it, I was glad for the first time since I left that I wasn’t in Egypt. I was scared. I was scared for the people, scared for the country, scared for the movement. I was anticipating a breaking point, an unleashing of pent up anger and aggression in the form of violence. But the Egyptian people again rose above what would have been both understandable and also disastrous. Over and over, they exceeded every expectation I, and the world, had of them. Now there is no place in the world I would rather be than right in the center of Cairo.

When I arrived in Egypt in September 2010, just before the parliamentary elections (if you can call it an election) were held, I asked everybody I met, young and old, if they were going to vote. Almost without fail, they answered no. Their reasoning was always the same: “What’s the point? It won’t make a difference. There is nothing we can do to change things.” I can’t tell you how many times I heard these statements, and similar sentiments, coming from people’s mouths. While no one would hesitate to tell you that Mubarak was a dictator, a terrible man, hated by the people, swimming in a sea of corruption, no one seemed to feel capable of, or responsible for, change. They also all seemed completely resigned to the fact that Hosni’s son, Gamal, would take over when his father retired. I can tell you with complete honesty that I heard a lot of frustration, but nothing to indicate that a people’s revolution was months away.

It is different here in Jordan. People are still scared to criticize the royal family. Anyone you ask will tell you that the King and Queen are loved by all. It is only in closed circles and hushed whispers that dissent is spoken here. But on Saturday, after the news of Mubarak’s departure had spread far and wide, I came into the living room of my host family’s house and sat next to my host mom. She was holding Fadi, the baby, on her lap, bouncing him and cooing. He is such a beautiful baby, with huge brown eyes framed by long dark lashes, thick, curly black hair, chubby, rosy cheeks, and an almost perpetual smile. As we sat with the cheering crowds in Tehrir on the TV as a backdrop, Rowah (my host mom) stared intently at her baby boy and told me how she hoped he would grow up and lead a revolution. She told me how she knew already that he was charismatic (“like Obama!” she said) and that she wanted him to grow up to lead a movement like the one in Egypt. Hearing her speak this way made me realize that even if the monarchy doesn’t fall today, the seeds of change have been sown. What the Tunisians and Egyptians have done, beyond just ousting oppressive dictators, is inspire people everywhere to question the status quo.

Everyone is speculating about what is next for Egypt. I have read over and over that the concern is that the now-ruling army will try to implement a Mubarak-style government, just without Mubarak. And that may indeed happen. But I think it is important not to underestimate the Egyptian people. Mubarak, America, other Arab countries, even myself, did that for too long. And now they have tasted freedom. It is on their tongues, at their fingertips, in their hearts. I don’t claim to know what is coming next for the country known as the Mother of the World. But I do know that I will never again doubt the power of its people. And neither should the military.

Reflections of an Evacuated "Middle Eastern Studies" Major

In the past couple of weeks I have been having a sort of Kristof-athon. While I was in snail-mail reachable Europe, my mom sent me Kristof’s book, Half the Sky, which he wrote with his wife, Sheryl WuDunn. The subtitle of the book is “Turning Oppression into Opportunity for Women Worldwide” and it is one of the most inspiring books I have ever read. As a frequent reader of his editorials in the New York Times, my long time admiration for him has recently turned into full-on adoration. My dad sent me the link to his blog, which for the past week or so has been his first-hand account of the events in Egypt. His writing is eloquent, thought provoking, and rich with the experience of a two-time Pulitzer Prize winning journalist who has been reporting on world events for decades. He has been on the ground for innumerable conflicts, uprisings, and revolutions. His article “We Are All Egyptians” in Thursday’s paper synthesized perfectly so many of the emotions and thoughts I have been having since all this began on that fateful “Day of Anger.”

Being stuck in Jordan, so many miles away from where I feel I should be, I have been watching and reading everything I can about what is going on in the country that has been my home for the past half a year. Everyone has an opinion about what is going on and what the future holds for Egypt. The consensus seems to be that Mubarak has no choice but to step down and even his BFFs in Washington have reluctantly agreed. But if there is one word that is used most frequently to describe the Egyptian dictator, it is stubborn. While there are certainly a few other, more colorful adjectives floating around my head to describe him, especially after his most recent despicable attempts to quell the uprisings, I cannot deny that this is true. One thing is for sure; he’s not going down without a fight. And any hope he had for a graceful departure from power was crushed by the fists of the “pro-Mubarak” thugs he sent to intimidate peaceful protestors. And now people all over the world are feeling what every Egyptian has felt for at least the last twenty years: it’s time for him to get the fuck out.

However, despite the fact that the obvious next step is Mubarak’s resignation, many American media sources, and indeed some powerful people in Washington, seem reluctant to take the plunge. This faltering is understandable, Mubarak has been our biggest ally in the Arab world for years and certainly his departure leaves uncertainty about our, and Israel’s, future relations with Egypt. But I think the suggestion that without Mubarak, Egypt will descend into chaos is an insult to the Egyptian people and what they have accomplished. Indeed, thus far the chaotic element of this revolution has been the regime. Useless concessions, empty promises, and, lately, violence have been the government’s only actions, while the people have been organized, persistent, clear-headed, and peaceful. I think it is time we put a little more faith in the Egyptian people, especially now that the world knows what they are capable of.

Another problem with the Western media’s analysis of Egypt’s future possibilities is the almost universal, and wholly inaccurate, portrayal of the Muslim Brotherhood as a radical, terrorist organization. While this description may have been accurate a few decades ago, the MB has been an organization that condemns violence for many years. Now it is a middle-class movement, consisting mostly of members who are doctors, lawyers, and businessmen. For the past decade, its members have been discussing practical ways to reconcile Islam, democracy, and the modern age. And they have come up with some worthwhile solutions. While still primarily a religious group, the majority of the MB represents a moderate outlook on government and society. There are still radical fringe groups of course, but as a country currently electing members of the Tea Party to government, I don’t think America can say too much about that.

As for Israel’s concern, and our inevitable concern for them, it is unavoidable. A leader representing the views of the majority of Egyptians would not continue the same kind of diplomatic relations with the Jewish state that this regime has. But Egypt is in no position, politically, economically or militarily, to go to war with Israel again. Nor can it afford to lose the valuable American aid that has been flowing in due, in large part, to its conciliatory role in the Arab-Israeli conflict. Anyone smart enough to gain a position of power in Egypt will know this.

The most important thing to keep in mind, in my opinion, is that the Egyptians are saying loud and clear that they are fed up with authoritarian rule. While the ousting of Mubarak has been the aspect of these uprisings most played up in the media, it is actually the cry for democracy that is at the heart of the issue. Egyptians are not only seeking the end of a dictatorship, but the beginning of a government for and by the people. Decades of oppression have taught them the importance of government accountability to the people and the rule of law. They have taken these lessons to heart and now it’s our job to offer our support as they seek to implement them.

*I know I promised food posts, and I swear there are some coming, but my head is fuller than my stomach right now. So, in the meantime, I hope you will all accept some brain food!

The Egyptian Revolution of 2011, Part 3 (Evacuation)

Sunday morning I received a frantic call from my program director at 7:00 am. It went something like this:

Dr. Mohammad: Liana, the insurance company has decided to evacuate the students.

Me: Wait, what?

Dr. Mohammad: Yes, they decided to get you out.

Me: Wait, seriously?

Dr. Mohammad: Oh yes.

Me: Ummmmmmmmmm………… ok…

Dr. Mohammad: I don’t have any more information so we ask that you wait to tell your parents so that we can give them more information. But you should pack your things. They are coming today for you.

Me: Today? Wait, like… TODAY?

Dr. Mohammad: Oh yes.

Me: Oh.

Dr. Mohammad: Look Liana, they are making the right decision. They are doing what is best for you. But I don’t know when they will come for you so you should have everything packed as soon as possible.

It went on like this for some time, with Dr. Mohammad assuring me that this was best and me responding in monosyllables. After making a few more calls (I mean, did they really expect me not to call my parents??) I began repacking the things that I had just unpacked not a week earlier. Having been told the Alexandria students were being taken to the airport in an hour, I frantically stuffed the things I thought I would need into my suitcases. When I was finished I went into the living room to watch the news and rest while I waited for further instructions. One hour passed. Then two, then three, four, five… I kept calling my directors and I kept being told that there was no information. Eventually the clock struck 4, curfew descended on the city, and I knew nothing would be happening that day. Later in the evening I received a call from Chris Harrison, another person in charge of my program and she told me that as soon as curfew was lifted in the morning (8:00 am), I would be picked up by a man named Ali and taken to the airport. She was stuck in Alexandria and asked me to bring the luggage she had left in Cairo with me. 

The next morning I awoke, showered and finished my last packing. I had received a call at about 7:30 informing me that I would be picked up in an hour at my apartment, now by a man named Drum Cussak, taken to the airport in a van with other American students, and flown out on a 12:30 pm chartered flight which would stop in Alexandria to pick up the people there and then fly to Athens, Greece. Since it is Egypt and nothing is ever on time, I didn’t really expect to be picked up at 8:30. I guessed more like 9 or 10. What I didn’t expect was to wait for five hours, every hour or so being told someone was on his way, just late because of the other students they were picking up. I didn’t expect to receive a call telling me that someone named Walid was waiting for me downstairs. I didn’t expect Walid to be driving an empty car. And I certainly didn’t expect for Walid to ask me where he was supposed to take me.

Eventually I arrived at the airport at 2:30 in the afternoon. Mind you, my flight was supposed to have left at 12:30. Luckily for me, it hadn’t, because none of the students who were supposed to be on it had arrived in time. We waited outside the airport for another hour before being told our plane was ready. It took us an hour to get through security (with Chris’s bags I had a total of six pieces of luggage), passport control, and other Egyptian bureaucracy. The airport was a mess, flooded with foreigners trying to escape. Finally, at 4:30 we boarded our airplane. They told us we would take off in about fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes later they told us we would take off in twenty minutes. An hour and a half later, at 6:30, they told us our flight was canceled. They explained that the Egyptian Air force had suspended all flights out of Cairo and that we would be unable to leave until tomorrow morning. But somehow Mathew, the program manager of the AMIDEAST study abroad group who was also being evacuated with me, managed to miraculously get us clearance to take off. At 8:30 pm, eight hours later than scheduled, our plane finally took off. However, we bypassed the stop in Alexandria for fear of being detained there too. This meant I had all six suitcases to deal with when we arrived in Athens at midnight; the Alexandria people managed to get out later that night and were flown to Prague. It was one of the longest days of my life.

After discussing it with my parents, who had been in touch with my program, my school, and the State Department, it was decided that I had three options:

1. Go home and figure something out for the rest of the semester.
2. Go back to Mt. Holyoke, which had started a few weeks ago.
3. Try to go on a different program in a different Middle Eastern country.

It was a difficult decision and I quickly narrowed it down to option 1 or option 3. Oh, how tempting it was to go home! Life would have been boring maybe, but easy. So easy. But if I had gone home, what would all you lovely people have to read?! In the end I managed to arrange a new program (actually with the group I had been evacuated with), in Amman, Jordan. And that is where I am now. I spent one glorious day in Athens, seeing the sights and basking in the comforts of a Westernized country, and then flew to Amman on February 2^nd.

Aside from being in an entirely new city in an entirely new country, there are a few other things that are going to be different this semester. This program gave me the option of an apartment with other American students (as I would have had in Egypt) or a home stay with a Jordanian family. It was a tough decision (again I found myself faced with the choice of an easy way out or a challenge), but in the end I decided that as long as I was doing this, I might as well do it all the way! So, last night I moved in with my new family. They are beautiful people and I think I am going to be treated very well here. I have my own room and there is wireless Internet (most of the time), so creature comforts are well taken care of. I live not too far from where I have class. And there is a baby! But more on the family later. I know I have abandoned my main theme in the last few posts, but I thought it was necessary given the stories I had to tell. Plus, I lived on crackers, peanut butter, and popcorn for the last week, so there wasn’t much to elaborate on. However, living with a host family offers me the chance not only to eat authentic, home-cooked Jordanian food, but also (insha’allah) to learn how it is made! So, stay tuned and come hungry, I promise a feast!

The Egyptian Revolution of 2011, Part 2 (Jan. 29th)

Note: I am still unable to load the videos, but spent the better part of today trying. Again, this was drafted while I was still in Eypt, I apologize for the delay.

Update: The videos are loaded!

Friday night was restless. Gunshots rang out throughout the night and screaming usually followed. I finally got some sleep once the sun started to rise, its rays driving the looters and criminals into the shadows. I woke up at around noon and decided to go explore. I had no set idea of where I was going, only that I would follow the action for as long as I felt safe. With a fully charged camera I set off toward Tehrir street. The street was quieter than it had been the night before and no one was gathered at the traffic circle. I crossed the bridge into Zamalek and started wandering off the main street. Almost as soon as I deviated, I heard chanting and clapping from behind me. I turned around to see a huge crowd of people marching down the street in the direction of downtown. I abandoned my off-the-beaten-path approach and returned to join the masses. Despite being surrounded by hundred of protesters, I never once felt unsafe. I saw many other foreigners who were clearly doing the same as me, hoping to catch a glimpse of some of the action. As I approached the bridge that would take me into the heart of downtown Cairo, the charred, smoldering remains of the NDP building came into view. Smoke was still rising from its roof and windows, filling the sky above it with a thick, black cloud. I paused for a moment, wondering if this blackened building should be taken as a warning. 

However, as I slowly made my way across the crowded bridge it became more and more evident that no one meant me any harm. I saw far more peace signs being raised in the air than fists or weapons. People wanted freedom; they were fighting against more than 30 years of oppression and violence. Brutality was not on their agenda. In fact, as uprising go, the Egyptians have been extraordinarily restrained and organized. With a measure of self-control rarely seen in revolutions, the Egyptians have managed to channel their anger into constructive and effective protests. If fighting begins now, I can guarantee it will be put into motion by the regime, not by the people in the streets.

As I reached the end of the bridge, I saw burned cars and trucks along the side of the road. Gutted and abandoned, they stood testament to the unrest that was sweeping the country. 

Abandoned trucks which had delivered police could also be seen burned and often tagged with graffiti, all along the lines of “Get out, Mubarak!” 

Translation: Leave Mubarak, you traitor

Sirens and the occasional shot rang out, but mostly the air was filled with the chanting of the thousands who had gathered downtown to protest the dictatorship. Every five minutes a new wave of people would join the already swollen crowd in the square.

 I climbed up to a bridge in order to see the action better, but I was by no means the first with this idea. 

Almost as soon as I arrived, the afternoon prayer began. Men kneeled in the street, surrounded by their fellow protestors, all of whom mostly stopped what they were doing during the prayers. In the middle of a protest demanding basic human rights, the people were performing one of the few they have been allowed; freedom of religion. Hundreds praying together is a sight that moves me even without this historic backdrop. Under the circumstances, the beauty was overwhelming.

Almost as soon as the prayers ended, I saw something else that moved me almost to tears. Under the bridge, just below where I was standing, a young woman wearing a bright hijab was leading a call-and-answer chant among a group of youth. Beside her stood her companions, another young woman and a young boy. Together, they were rallying the crowd. 

This scene illustrates one of the most important things about what is happening in Egypt. Egypt is a highly divided country; gaping schisms separate the rich from the poor, women from men, young from old, and Muslims from Christians. But right now, during what might be the most difficult time in Egypt’s history, unity prevails. There is no one kind of person in Tehrir Square. Stories have been flooding the media about poor and rich, men and women, young and old all working together for freedom. Even more astonishing, countless tales of Muslims and Christians not only working together, but protecting one another, are being told. Less than a month ago, many people would have cited religious tensions as one of the greatest issues in Egyptian society. Now we are now seeing photos of Christians linking arms to protect praying Muslims and Muslims guarding Coptic churches. These uprisings have united Egyptians in a way no other force in history has been capable of.

Just as I began thinking it was time to start making my way back home, I heard cheering coming from down the street. Following the sound, I ended up in front of the Ramses Hilton, the hotel that my family stayed in when they came to visit me in the end of December. In front of this towering building rolled dozens of Armored Personnel Carriers (APCs), topped with soldiers in fatigues and strapped with automatic weapons. 

The jubilation at the arrival of the army still seems strange to me, as no one is sure which side they fall on. Will they protect the people from the oppression of the government, as they did in Tunisia, or will they turn out to be pawns of the regime, stifling the uprising with overwhelming force? The people seemed convinced of the former, but I’m not so sure. I guess only time will tell.

Next up, the epic saga of my evacuation from Egypt and what’s next for me. Stay tuned!

The Egyptian Revolution of 2011, Part 1 (Jan. 26-28)

Note: this post was drafted over the weekend but due to internet blackouts, a chaotic evacuation (story to come soon), and absurdly long load times for videos, I have been unable to post it until now. Please forgive the delay.

As I draft this, thousands of protesters are marching through the streets of Cairo, Alexandria, Suez, and many other Egyptian towns, demanding the resignation of long-time president Hosni Mubarak. Of course, if you didn’t know that before reading this, you must be living under a rock. Crazy that you get Internet under that rock, especially considering we haven’t had it in Egypt for the last 48 hours. At first it was just the social networking sites that were down, Facebook, Twitter, etc. But starting Thursday night, there was no Internet access anywhere in all of Egypt. Around the same time, cell phones stopped working and many of the television channels showed nothing but static and white noise. Cell phones started working again earlier today (Saturday), but it is any one’s guess as to how long that will last. The few tv channels that are working depict the protests as small and insignificant. I can tell you with absolute certainty that this is false.

I arrived back in Egypt on the evening of Wednesday the 26^th of January. This was the day after what Egyptians are calling the “Day of Anger,” the first day of protests throughout the country. Thursday was quiet, but Friday (which in Egypt is the equivalent of Sunday) saw large protests following midday prayers and lasting long into the night. Today those protests continued and grew. Aside from being cut off from the world wide web and mobile communications, I am also virtually completely alone in Cairo. My program directors left on Thursday for Alexandria and have been unable to return since. None of the new Cairo students have arrived yet and their departure has now been delayed indefinitely. The two other students who were with me in Alexandria and are staying on in Cairo this semester are both safe in the Western world, one in America and one in Ireland.

My parents, the program directors, and the U.S. embassy all urged me to stay inside my apartment and wait it out. However, with no access to email or phones and no reliable information coming from the television, I was going pretty stir crazy. When chanting and yelling came drifting through my windows on Friday afternoon, I could no longer take it. I grabbed my camera and headed towards Tehrir street, a main street just a couple of blocks from my apartment. As I emerged onto the street from my apartment building I was shocked by the silence. My street, usually filled with cars, taxis, trucks, food carts, and people was nearly deserted.

As I began my walk towards Tehrir, I could almost feel electricity in the air. As I got closer to the main street, I started seeing groups of people, some moving in the same direction as me and others clustered around men who were handing out face masks. I knew tear gas had been a popular deterrence method used by the police, but I never expected to be able to feel it in the air as far from downtown as I was. Tear gas has the strangest smell, sort of like vinegar, but more metallic. I could feel it burning my nose and throat as I walked down the main street. People were moving eastward along the street and as I approached the bridge that connects Dokki to Zamalek, the number of people around me grew. Large crowds were gathered at the traffic circle at the end of the street and I stayed as long as my camera battery and respiratory system would allow. Then I headed back to my apartment to recharge my camera and my lungs.

A few hours later I decided to return to the protest area before darkness fully ascended on the city. The number of people had at least doubled, if not tripled, and the air was more toxic than ever. This time I had come prepared with a scarf, which I kept wrapped over my nose and mouth most of the time I was out. As I stood near the end of the street, listening to the chants and cries of a people protesting 30+ years of oppression, I found myself almost brought to tears by the incredible sight in front of me. After half a year in this country I know first hand the apathy and laziness that plagues the people of this nation. I never thought the Egyptian people were capable of such a tremendous showing of righteousness, strength, organization, and unity (and especially not all these things at once!). It’s inspiring. Waves of people kept joining the group, flooding in from somewhere down the street. Every fifteen minutes or so a new mass of people would come marching down the street, chanting and waving flags and signs. It was truly an awe-inspiring sight to see. I went home feeling hopeful about the future of Egypt for one of the first times since I arrived in this country.

Since this post is already so long, I will do a separate post about what I saw today (Saturday). This afternoon I ventured further than my own neighborhood, making my way downtown, armed only with a camera and a semi-useless cell phone. It was an experience I will never forget and I promise to share it all with you, in words, pictures, and video.