CAIRO: Among the sea of veils, dark hair and skin, it wasn't difficult for the boy's bright hair and skin to stand out. Conscious of the eyes fixed upon him, the young boy faced the wall as soon as he jumped onto the metro. Staring at the floor, he avoided eye-contact, as his mother stood a meter away from him, also conscious and seemingly-embarrassed of everybody's harsh stares – at her albino son. Despite rumors floating around over social media that the station to Tahrir was closed, as soon as it was time to get off, people got off – and so did I. A general atmosphere of panic filled the station – passengers were eyeing each other as if there was an enemy amongst us that they were trying to identify. Nervous and jumpy, a group of passengers came running in my direction. Eyes red, tears running down their faces, they screamed “Tear gas, tear gas,” as they guided other passengers away from the exit. A few of them seemed to be having trouble breathing – one of them collapsed on the staircase, leaned on the wall and waved his hands at us as if to say, “stay away from the exit.” Apparently, someone had thrown a tear bomb inside the station to prevent protesters from reaching Tahrir. Some passengers panicked and started running away while others stood still in their places confused and terrified as the smell of gas raced their way. A man selling face masks called out, “For a pound, for a pound,” with his eyes drifting from one passenger to the other looking for potential buyers. A few passengers started walking towards the gas, determined to reach the exit to Tahrir. The closer we got to the exit, the more people we found collapsed on the ground. Two men carrying a third came running towards us, screaming for us to move away. When the smell became unbearable, we agreed it was a good idea to try the other exit – so we went back and went out of the other exit. The chants became louder with every step we took towards the square. Then, Tahrir. ** The events of this article took place on November 21. BM
