He replied in the tone of one in the know: “No, you don’t get it. Those folks care nothing for money. They just get a kick out of this. They can’t live without being under someone’s whip.”
His views on things disturbed me. I remembered Galal’s words: “There’s no such thing as a nation of slaves. Anyone who says so is a jerk. People might be poor but they aren’t slaves.”
I asked the driver, “Where are you going?”
“I’ll take you home. Where do you live?”
“I don’t want to go home. Please take me back to the square.”
He exhaled. “And then what? What if they catch you again? Go home, miss, until things calm down. All hell is breaking loose in the square right now. The battle is at its height.”
I said stubbornly, “Please. Just take me back to the square. Not through Abd al-Moneim Riyad this time. Take me through Qasr al-Aini.”
“OK,” he said, giving in. “Let’s just try to find a safe entrance.”
I called Galal. He could hear the tears in my voice. “Are you OK?” he asked. “Did anything happen to you?”
“I’m fine,” I replied. “Where are you?”
“Come to Qasr al-Aini. I’m here with Rima and Layla.”
The street was calm, though the pavements on both sides were all broken up. There were strange-looking types in Talaat Harb Square. The driver pulled up before we got to the first checkpoint. “It’s safe here,” he said. “Take my number. Call me if you or your friends need anything. I can get through anything. Just call. My name’s Mansur. If you ever need anything, call me and I’ll be there.”
“I’m Nadia, Mansur.” I smiled. “I don’t know how to thank you. May God protect you.”
“May victory be with us, Miss Nadia.”
Mansur went on his way. I found Galal waiting for me at the entry point to the square. His shirt was torn. Rima had a dark look on her face and Layla seemed very anxious. I started crying again in Galal’s arms. I told him in broken fragments what had happened, my head resting on his shoulder. Finally he moved me away from his shoulder and said, “Aren’t you OK now? What’s all this fuss you’re making? Don’t you know what’s been happening?”
I frowned. “You think it was nothing to be captured by a mob shouting ‘Iraqis’? They meant that I’m a spy.”
“No, sweetie,” he said. “It’s not nothing. But we were running from camels and horses a few hours ago. We’ve had Molotov cocktails flying over our heads for hours. Rima was attacked. The thugs cornered her by a small shop, and if the shopkeeper hadn’t stood up for her, they would have eaten her alive. Layla has been running around worrying about us all day. We’re all in a state, I mean. So calm down and try to pull yourself together.”
I went quiet, suddenly realizing how dramatic I was being. Galal added: “Also, Iraqi? You couldn’t look more Egyptian.”
“Well, Iraqis look like us,” I murmured, then looked at Rima. “What happened to you?”
“I lived through a fucking horror movie.”
Impersonating Galal, I pretended to make light of things: “Aren’t you OK now? What’s all this fuss you’re making?”
We all laughed and some of the tension dissipated.
“Let’s sit for a bit and take a break from all this,” said Layla.
“You go. I have to get back to the front,” said Galal, and started running in the direction of the square.
“Is Galal going to war?” I asked. “The front?”
“Oh, it’s because you’re a foreigner now. Let me explain,” said Layla. “The square turned into a war zone in the past few hours. We now have, God bless us, the Champollion front, Muhammad Mahmud front, Qasr al-Nil front, and this one, Qasr al-Aini front. There are barriers and barricades and makeshift trenches on each one. They attack and we respond from our side. But inside the square it’s also not entirely safe. There are people on top of buildings throwing Molotovs. We’ve been having a shitty time. May this day come to an end.”
“But how do we know these are paid thugs?” I wondered aloud. “Couldn’t they just be people who bought yesterday’s bullshit speech? Guys, people outside really think that we’re spies and traitors.”
Rima shot me a ferocious look. “What’s wrong with you, Nadia? You’ve seen for yourself. No one here has any weapons. They’ve attacked us on camel and horseback! And that squad on the roofs is throwing fireballs onto the heads of unarmed people. I have no idea what’s happening outside, but we’ve witnessed a massacre here today.”
“So what are we supposed to do now?” I asked, exhausted.
“Nothing,” said Layla. “We wait till Galal returns. It’s difficult to get into the square now. But when they start attacking from Talaat Harb, we’ll try to move to a safer spot.”
I’d completely forgotten about calling my father. I dialed his number and he picked up immediately. I told him calmly that I was fine and that where I was standing it was safe. I said that everything was going well, that the protestors had the situation under control.
Later, when I walked into the square, I could smell blood. Dozens of men and youths had their heads bandaged, the blood seeping through the basic cotton and gauze they’d used. There was blood everywhere. I started to panic. I hadn’t imagined things to be this bad. Where had all this come from? The regime was trying to save itself through whatever means it could, crushing the dreamers in its way. For me, everyone in that square was a dreamer—people dreaming that by sheer will, they could change something so powerful, solid, and deep-rooted. In a country like ours, this was a wild dream, especially when it grew out of the middle classes. We were all cogs in the machinery of this immense nightmare. We produced nothing, only consumed and went around in circles. We had never experienced hunger. There are people in the world who
