Spark of a Revolution

Friday night charged at me like a raging bull on January 28, 2011. Time seemed to fly away so quickly here in Cairo, Egypt. I stared at the glowing laptop monitor thinking of words to type. The essay is due on Sunday morning and I still did not start. I worked on an economics internal assessment (IA) for my senior year International Baccalaureate (IB) program. IB is a special program offered in my school in Cairo to students who seek academic challenge. My topic reads: Egyptian monetary and exchange rate policy. This must have been the most overused topic in my class.

After a couple of crumpled drafts and scribbled paragraphs, I managed to write the introduction. I felt tired. I craved some ice cream and a comedy movie to run away from it all.

“How’s your IA going sweetie?” Mom came checking on me.

“Umm… Fine Mom, I am almost done. I’ll… polish it tomorrow.” I lied as I continued digging through my chocolate ice cream.

I went to sleep after I finished eating. The bed felt warm and inviting. I wished to pause time for a while to sleep endlessly. I pushed my head towards the pillow and pulled the blanket over my head.

I woke up the next day to a noisy ringing BlackBerry. I fumbled through my side table to grasp my phone.

“Hel…Hello?” I murmured.

“Hey Omar. Wake up. I have amazing news.” My best friend yelled in excitement.

“Damn it Nader its 8 a.m. I am half asleep.” I muttered as I flung the blanket aside.

“The deadline is extended. IA is due next week. WooHoo.” Nader screamed and hung up.

It felt like a dream at first, but then my brother came skipping into my room.

“Guess what Omar. School is out for a week.” Hatem said joyfully with a half empty glass of Pepsi in his right hand.

I jumped out of the bed and called my other friends to confirm as I made my way to the living room.

“Omar you are not going to believe this,” my older brother Ahmed said. “It’s the Revolution. People are gathering in Tahrir Square. We are finally going to overthrow the government.”

Ahmed followed me to the living room, searched for the TV remote, and dived into the living room sofa. Ahmed loved Egyptian politics. He studied political science in the American University in Cairo. His dream is to have a positive impact on the country, whether politically or economically. All news channels broadcasted the Square.

I assumed the huge gathering in Tahrir Square is the reason school shut down for a week. The school sent emails confirming the news. The deadline extension relieved me but the gathering worried me.

“I am going to the Square. Wanna come?” Ahmed asked.

I bit my lower lip in hesitation. The live coverage on TV doesn’t look very safe. But I don’t get to see a revolution every day. At least this way I’ll have an excuse for procrastinating. I grabbed my leather jacket, snatched my Converse shoes and followed Ahmed eagerly to his brown Jeep.

We picked up our cousin on the way to the Square. We needed him in case something happened. He stood six feet tall with muscular arms and a wide body. Plus he played water polo for a couple of years. It made him even bigger and stronger.

“Hey Khalid. Your school is out too?” I said as I shook his hand.

Khalid nodded twice and smirked.

Everyone around us talked about the revolution. The people in taxi cabs, and motorcycles, and mini buses all shared their revolution fantasies as we waited in traffic. I heard people shouting, Rooh el Midan, as I tweaked the window open. It meant go to the Square in Egyptian Arabic.

The streets became louder and more chaotic as we approached the Square. We pushed our way through all kinds of people from different social classes. The number of people in the Square exceeded my imagination. I always heard about revolutions in books and TV shows. But I never thought of experiencing one. On one side people sold fruits and vegetables and fought of security to stay in the Square. In the corners, people broke into small groups and practiced their own chants. And in the center, some people got their families and used the Square as a place to celebrate.

The Square erupted with people jumping, and chanting, and singing, and raising their posts and charts. Boys and girls, men and women, young and old, Muslims and Christians, all stood together hand in hand protesting against Mubarak’s corrupt government. I have never seen such unity in Egypt before. The view startled me.

“It’s time to go home. Get back to the car.” Ahmed yelled. I barely heard him from all the shouting and cheering.

On our way back home, I got a disappointing text message from Mahaba, a close friend of mine in economics class.

Omar be careful, they sent emails earlier saying that economics IAs will be due tomorrow and not in a week. We’ll have to hand it in online.

Even though this message might have saved my grade, I regretted turning on my phone.

“Back to where I started,” I muttered as I unbuckled my seat belt. “Hey Ahmed, guess what? Remember that Economics essay I got an extension for… Well it’s still due tomorrow.”

“What? How come they did not tell you earlier?”

“Apparently they did, but I don’t really check my email often.” I sighed.

“You are screwed,” Ahmed chuckled. “Don’t worry I’ll help you out. Just collect your ideas and your sources and I’ll give you a hand.”

“Eshta.” I said while faking a yawn to hide my uncontrollable smile. Eshta is an Egyptian slang word which expresses approval or acceptance. Its literal meaning is cream.

“But it’s gonna cost ya.” Ahmed smirked.

I jumped from my yawning position, “What? Are you serious?”

Ahmed grinned and turned on the radio.

We reached home at about 9 p.m. I sat there on my desk for a while thinking about all the exciting things that’ll happen this week in Tahrir Square. I took my laptop and my notes and met Ahmed in the living room.

“Alright Omar lets work on your essay now, and kick some government ass tomorrow!”

I smiled.