Talkin' bout a Revolution

Logic might dictate, that a normal person with R&R from their job in Iraq might seek out something a little on the tame, serene or pampering side. I've been called a many things in my time, but logical or normal are not leading exemplars to describe me. With a final destination being the Horn of Africa, i was forced to transit somewhere on route. Given the choices of boring Dubai where i'd need a visa to merely go to some overpriced mall to shop, or Cairo in the midst of a bloody revolution, my abnormal logic needed no time to make a decision.

I had been to Cairo before, honestly i'm not a huge fan. On top of the

chaotic streets belching equal amounts of exhaust and noise, the place is overrun by tourists and the incredibly aggressive touts that hover like African killer bees with PMS. Funny thing is, bloody revolutions tend to scare off the masses. I breezed through the Cairo airport, a building used to dealing with thousand of travellers at a time, not hundreds. After the inevitable heated arguement with the taxi driver to try to get a reasonable price into town, he becomes your new best friend. “Look Habibi, Mubarak house” my driver points out as we pass the ousted leader's home. “Mubarak bad?” i ask. “Very bad!!” comes the reply as he curses Mubarak in Arabic with what i can only assume is an armpit infestation of fleas from 1,000 camels. “Tahrir ok?” I ask about the square that has seen some of the most memorable images of the revolution. “No problem, Habibi”

In general, little remains of the mass encampments and 1,000,000

man marches which brought Tahrir Square into the spotlight of the world's media. Sure there are a couple tents still up and a few people whinging about the new military dictatorship, but things leading up to my visit had calmed considerably. But when a situation remains a tense pressure keg of pissed off youth with nothing else to do, it's ready to explode at anytime. And that's exactly what happened as i made my way to Tahrir. Things had progressed from rock throwing and name calling (with the occasional camel mounted beating) to full on warfare. Hardhats were the newest fashion as a group started attacking a number of buildings surrounding the square,

the main target (at least one easy enough to access) was the “Institute D'Egypte” Molotav cocktails rained on the building like sugar canes at a Santa Claus parade. The army responded by throwing massive stones chipped of the burning building down on the crowd below (hence the hardhats) But even among the chaos and destruction there was a nonchalant-ness about the crowd. Pretzel sellers worked the hungry crowd as families would pose for pictures with the anarchy as a backdrop. I felt “safe”. Locals would happily chat to me as none of their anger is aimed of foreigners. The whole scene became a little boring and i was ready to leave. But then it got interesting.

Perhaps there was some arbitrary line that was crossed. But even

as the Prime Minister was making a televised speech saying how they would not use violence, the word was given for the army to change from the defensive to the offensive. Craned water cannons pushed the crowd back far enough to make a little elbow room. Then the tear gas. Then the cane wielding soldiers. Goal number one was to fight fire with fire, literally. The few remaining tents, many merely impromptu field hospitals, were burned. The crowds half scattered, half fought back. The soldiers charged, beating anyone slow enough to be caught. I came to a truly bona fide and sudden realization. I really need to work on my over-the-shoulder while running for my life photography.I made it to my hotel, which i specifically chose for it's proximity to the square. Things in the square were secured, as i'm sure the fight moved on somewhere else. I went to Burger King (which i hadn't had in a million years) then headed back to the airport to catch my flight to Somalia via Ethiopia. But more on that later.