Ben Whateley-Harris went to Egypt to see the culture, temples and deserts. He ended up seeing much more than he bargained for
The semi-arid landscape out of the bus window began to show
signs of life. The odd tree and house dotted the rocky landscape.
The sporadic buildings began to grow in number as the bus started
to get nearer to Cairo and soon the sandy, dusty plastic bag strewn landscape
gave way to a bustling metropolis that was in chaos.
The date was February 2011 and I had just arrived back into
the Egyptian capital from the isolated White Desert.
What I had just arrived into was the Arab Spring and the
full scale violence that were the Cairo riots.
At this time Hosni Mubarak was still President of Egypt and
his forces clashed violently with protesters and their blood stained the
streets and tear gas filled the air.
I had arrived at what could not have been a worse time. The
city was collection of groups marching through the streets and then being
forced back by overzealous police wielding batons and riot shields.
I stepped off the bus with my backpack tightly clutched in
my hand and took in the scene.
Hotels were closed and guest houses were out of the
question. I was now on my own and needed to use my wits to find shelter and a
way of getting to the airport. That was if the airport was functioning.
Nothing could have prepared me for what awaited me. The
normally bustling streets of the Egyptian capital were completely car free.
Thousands of people lined the streets, chanting, praying and burning posters of
Mubarak.
Tanks lined the streets, burnt out buses and cars were
everywhere. Military checkpoints stopped you at every corner and shops had been
looted and the ground was stained with blood.
Tear gas filled the air, lingering from the night before. A
local saw my eyes streaming and kindly gave me a mask.
After searching frantically I found some fellow backpackers
and we agreed to buy our way into a hotel that was still functioning. We
managed to pay for a room between all of us which became a massive locked room
to keep bags in. We all resulted afterwards to sleeping in the roof top bar
that over looked the city. From this vantage point we could see tanks manoeuvring
and swarms of people heading in all directions.
The electricity was sporadic and the building would shake
when a nearby explosion would go off.
This was exactly a mile from Tahir square and the scenes of
the most brutal violence.
Once my bag was secured I felt the weight off my shoulders.
I therefore decided that watching from the closed roof bar wasn’t what I needed
and I wanted to see first-hand what it was like at street level.
A I got closer to the square the crowds became more agitated
and volatile. I walked past shattered glass shop front and burnt out cars and
buses which blocked the bridges across the Nile.
Plumes of smoke filled the air and could be seen for miles
around.
One of the government buildings had been torched and the
small explosions of the air conditioning unit popped every now and then.
I walked up to the Egyptian Museum and it was a scene of
pure carnage.
The fires were burning more frequently in this area. The
fire service sat nearby not knowing what to do, they could not get near the
buildings because of the sea of debris, cars and people milling about filming
the scene on their mobile phones.
Tanks patrolled the square itself and people shouted and ran
from the police who would hold a line behind their riot shields and then suddenly
storm forward.
I saw news crews in flak jackets and army helmets reporting
and ducking every time a shot was fired into the air.
Tear gas canisters suddenly rained down on the crowd and pandemonium
exploded as bodies scrambled to get out of the smoke. Eyes filled with tears
and hands covered mouths. Panic ensued and people barged past one another to
try and get to cleaner air.
People became angrier and I would for moments become the
target of their rage as they would scream at me in Arabic and berate me for
taking photographs. I would move from area to area to escape the people and
what I saw would last with me forever.
Ole people would stand defiantly and then be barged to the
ground. An elderly gentleman dressed in a tattered suit was knocked to the ground
by a baton leaving him dazed and blooded. He was helped to his feet and rushed
down a side street to safety.
Women would holler at the police who would retaliate by a
volley of blow from batons.
The blaze from the buildings reflected off the dirty Nile
where a lone boat was making its way up river chugging along. The man on board
dressed in a vest and tattered shorts looked on as anger and violence ruled the
streets of his country’s capital.
I thought to myself it is time to get out. But the airport
was another matter.
I discovered that all flights had been cancelled, rearranged
or re-directed. Therefore my flight back to London which would have been the
following day wasn’t going to go ahead.
I chatted to several people who had tried and failed to
reach the airport and they all said that you had to pay a cab driver extra to
get you there and go during the curfew to avoid protests. This however ran the
risk of military check points. The military at this time were only passive bystanders
in the protests and had not chosen sides yet.
I could not get to the airport because of the imposed curfew
and the taxi drivers refusal to go there.
Therefore I chatted to a girl in the bar that evening as we
watched the violence escalate below us and we hatched a plan.
We decided that early the next morning we would attempt an
airport run and had found a cab driver who was willing enough to take us, for a
price!
That evening the rioting grew worse and the hotel management
were scared that the hotel itself would be attacked. The gathering in the bar
had grown to quite a few people all of nationalities and all were either shell-shocked
or clutching weapons.
We barricaded the stairwell just in case the lifts were out
of action anyway due to the last of electricity.
Employees of the hotel stood outside the main door. One had
a gold club and another had a pistol in his belt which he displayed triumphantly.
The crowds came and a few boots were aimed at the doors of
the hotel but apart from that the mobs passed on to look at unprotected pickings
and less defended areas.
People got whatever weapons they could and protected their
property in the area we were in. The hotel staffs were armed with poles, pipes
and one even had a rapier!
Finally at 6am still during the curfew we managed to get
into a cab to get to the airport.
Makeshift road blocks were everywhere.
I had to get out of the cab several times to moved debris
from the road. The driver glancing over his shoulder all the time.
I pushed concrete blocks out of the way and moved poles. People
still lined the streets with weapons and gave me the once over while I was
doing so. Once the cab moved through I would put the barricades back to their
approval. Only then would their stares leave me and the cab.
As we made our way
out onto the main roads vigilante groups stood by the road side next to the
military checkpoints. Some carried guns and some had automatic weapons stolen
from police stations.
All looked agitated and volatile as though any moment they
would become trigger happy.
I was glad when I got to the airport. But the fun and games
were not over yet.
It was a pure scrum and bundle to try and check in.
The airport was worse than a refugee camp, hoards of people screamed
at one another and fights broke out as people tried to push trolleys with their
worldly possessions through the melee.
There was not an inch of floor space and the British airways
office was swamped with people trying to get on flights or find out information
about if there flight was cancelled or departing.
Luckily my name was on the list because I had had a flight
booked which was cancelled. Therefore I could try and get through the mass of people
and get to the checkout desks.
If anyone has ever been to Cairo airport they will know the
silly way with which you have to go through two sets of check in before you are
even able to get into the departure lounge. The first set of check in was
mayhem.
People pushed and fought to try and get through and the
customs officers were shoved opff their feet and onto the floor.
At one point the bundles knocked the lady in uniform looking
at the bag x rays off her chair onto the ground. She was swallowed up by a mass
of bodies who stormed through resulting in uniformed officers pushing back.
Children screamed; fights broke out. There was no order or
anyone taking charge and directing people.
It was hot and noisy and completely disorientating. An
elderly Italian man suddenly was swept into the surge and his wife shouted for
him. It took all my strength to grab him and pull him back towards her.
It took me an hour to fight my way to immigration, when I
got there I was a mess. I glanced back and more fights were erupting. The noise
was deafening and a man was walking past with a meat cleaver in his hand.
I was suddenly very glad to be getting out of Egypt!
Tanks outside the Egyptian museum |
Place – Cairo, Egypt
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