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| Tahrir Square |
I clearly remember. It was a Sunday,
30th January, 2011. The day I would want to forget forever.
Almost a week before this day, an
uprising had finally led to a revolution, and the whole of Cairo had its eyes
wide open. With acts of rebellion, which had now surmounted into a major labour
strike, I had become more than confident to stand upright in front of an
arsenal that could easily take my life in a jiffy. But, death was not on my
mind; only freedom of my own rights, and that of the people. But freedom, as we all know it, is so hard to
find.
On a Sunday morning, one would think
of heading out for a day-long trip, or spending time with family and friends.
That was certainly not the case today. This morning, unlike any other was
shrouded by an air of rage. And this sense of resentment was quite noticeable
on every face of this enormous crowd that had gathered on Tahrir Square, which
had now become the war zone.
I had painted a tattoo on my left forearm.
It read “DEMOCRACY”. Many others were carrying pro-democracy banners and
posters, or wearing t-shirts in favour of the ousting of Hosni Mubarak. It was still early hours in the morning, but
not a soul was asleep. In fact, the tents which had sheltered every protester
through the night were already removed, folded and packed in their life-size
bag-packs. Laptops were on, and the scent of the Jasmine Revolution was going
viral instantly. Tahrir Square had become the new home of these people, but not
for long.
Tearing through the fog with the sun
rays reflecting off their Kevlar-coated transparent shields, policemen came
marching in numbers. And they were walking up to the square with an order - to put an end to this protest
without a formal request. Tension arose in the camp, as everyone now had their
eyes fixed on the black-jacket policemen wearing helmets and who were armed as
well. Everyone was caught off-guard, but all of us with the Egyptian flag
wrapped onto our bodies, also knew that it’s now or never. The silent protest
was about to get ugly, and the square was about to turn into a pool of blood.
Soon after, tear gas cans were thrown upon us for us to draw back. But, we were unmoved. Nobody budged. Then some more cans were hurled at us, and now with a group or two on the ground,
the protesters, including myself, started moving back, but not all. Unafraid
by the possibility of death, a wave of protesters plucked up some more courage
and started running in the direction of the policemen and began pelting stones at
them. And this outburst even included numerous teenagers and women. Age was no
bar in this fight. The sun was up now and so was the temper on both sides. The flags
began to wave with vigor Holding the top corners, I was waving one, too, sitting on top of a shoulder of one of my fellow protesters. To break this resistance, another
order was given, and it all turned
into a riot. Cars were burned, houses were set on fire and the street became a
battlefield. Number of protesters, in a matter of minutes, began to ask for
medical help. I got hit by a tear gas can twice and was also planted a blow in my
abdomen by one of the thick sticks carried by a policeman. Even boys not more
than 15 years of age were badly bruised with numerous cuts on their body. Blood
dripped through those cuts, and the pain was excruciating. No morning in the
history of Cairo looked so terrifying. With no breath of fresh air, there was
only smoke all over with cries of pain heard all the time. With lives lost in
quite a few numbers, the police receded and stopped the massacre for the time
being. Even the protesters, now heavily exhausted, pulled back as well.
The thunderous fight reignited after a
few hours, and for many more mornings to follow. Today, when I look back, and I’m
sure many others like me, would never would have wanted to wake up to a dawn that went
dark in a matter of seconds.
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