January 25 and Writing About Egypt

I had this idea when I made this blog that I'd be able to do more than just describe my first taste of falafel and the mountains that have risen in my floor since last night's drizzle swelled the wood under the tiles. I wanted to write something of interest--or more, something of value--something that reflects my sense of amazement that I'm lucky enough to be here in this country at this time. 

What three days has taught me is that that is going to be very difficult because this city, this country, this time, defy description and transcend words. It stretches beyond my camera lens and works its way under my skin. I wish I could describe that, but I'm not sure that I can. 

It's hard to write without a thesis, you know? But here goes.

I didn't go to Tahrir Square today. I wanted to so badly, but I didn't. Part of it was fear, knowing that I know the streets so little and stand out so much, painfully aware that I am a risk and unsure of what I might find. But even more than that, I was shy--shy to stand with the people who have lived through everything and risked so much, who yell the chants that I struggle to translate and organized movements that fill me with wonder.

So instead I went to Cairo Tower and stared through the fence at the top at the massive crowds below, awed to be even so close. I looked down at the massive city, a city with streetlight banners that say "مصر...الثورة والبناء, "Egypt...revolution and building," where, one year ago, organizers spread the word through word of mouth and staged phone calls in taxi cabs and subways that January 25th would be something special. It's a city that I have seen through university buses and beautiful dinners, a Nile tour boat and tourist paths, but is home to millions who live on less than two dollars a day. It is a city in which most women who I have seen are veiled, but women in advertisements look like this. It is a city that holds the Muslim Brotherhood, liberal professors who tell us that Egypt will revolt again against religious fundamentalism, 85% support for the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces even as graffiti and protest signs say otherwise. It is a city of street harassment, of dozens satellite dishes on old apartment buildings, of cats sleeping in garbage cans and surprising cupcake shops. It's the city of a little girl next to me on Cairo Tower in her father's arms, looking down at Tahrir Square and the vast city around it, speaking in Arabic I didn't understand. 

Standing so high up, I was humbled, and I knew that I will never have a thesis for this. 

Good night!