CAIRO - Not every foreigner flew home when the popular uprising started here late on January 25. Two of those who stayed and carried on working spoke briefly to me of what they felt as the mercury began to rise boil would be a better word. Social responsibility “On the Day of Anger [January 28] I witnessed an event I'd like to call a key moment. After watching a lengthy fight between riot police and protesters, I saw a police officer take off his riot helmet. He looked vulnerable without it; some sweaty strands of hair were plastered across his head,” said a 45-year-old teacher who has been living and working in Cairo for several years. “The officer shook hands with the protesters and they embraced warmly. The other police officers followed his example and soon much hugging and hand shaking was taking place. Then the police climbed into their vehicles and drove off,” he added. “One morning, it must have been the following Sunday or Monday, I can't quite remember which, I woke up early and looked out of the window. The street was quiet and empty, there was just one lone citizen sweeping the street. “He did this with great care, as if it were his living room. My street has never been so clean; it amazes me how people continued responsibility, cleaning the street, keeping it safe and protecting each other.”
Saeed and his smile
“I was very worried on Saturday evening [the day after the Friday of Anger]. After work, I got the Tube to Maadi Station then cycled to Maadi Digla to collect my wife from where she was lying low with her family,” said a middle-aged Englishman, who has lived and worked in Cairo for many years. “The streets were full of young men armed with clubs, metal bars, knives and Molotov cocktails, but they let me pass peacefully. When I got to Digla, the owner of the block of flats where my wife was staying had locked the gate and I had to scramble over. “I then had to help my wife scramble back out over the same gate. Though we felt scared, we tried not to show it, as we walked slowly home. Again, no-one bothered us. “That night, the shooting was continuous. We live just a few yards from the checkpoint between Sakanat el-Maadi and Tora, manned by vigilantes, as the police had vanished. The shooting was coming from the direction of the Tora prisons. “On Sunday morning, I walked through Maadi, negotiating the barriers in the streets, to church. But the priest had cancelled Mass because of the unrest. That was a depressing moment, but I thought I must just get on with life. Going to work helped me put everything to the back of my mind. “On Monday morning, I got up at 5.30am and cycled to my local supermarket. They'd run out of sugar and I bought the last two bags of flour in the place one was split. Again, it was a worrying time, as the thought of food shortages loomed. “Late that morning, I took the Tube to Nasser Station, where I alighted and walked the rest of the way to my office. It was a lovely sunny morning and that stroll down the quiet street, past the burnt-out police lorries, was the tonic I needed. “When Saeed, who works in the kitchen in my office, brought me a large cup of strong, sweet, steaming tea, with the usual kind smile on his face, and plonked it down on the desk in my office, I felt that normality was starting to return.”
