"A Little Rebellion Now and Then," Part 3

August 15th, 2013. The day that Egyptian security forces break up protests in two areas in Cairo. I am at school watching and listening as the events unfold. I am aware that the media outlet pundits are taking full advantage of their sudden prime broadcast time. Because of this the groups that sustain the protests, mainly the Muslim Brotherhood, garner the global airtime that is vital to their ongoing cause, the reinstatement of a democratically elected president. Egyptian security forces and the Egyptian Army, not that they necessarily want this, gain experience in crowd control, riot suppression and street combat. General al-Sisi and interim president Adly Mansour win the opportunity to present to all Egyptians and to the global community that today's struggle is a noble cause against terrorist elements. Meanwhile people like me who value individual rights and human contact get depressed. As the day wears remorselessly on, my spirits remorselessly sink. It doesn't seem to matter that hundreds of people are being killed. It doesn't seem to matter that mosques are being burnt, that property is being indiscriminately destroyed. The situation seems entirely devoid of sanity.

Rumors swirl among staff at school, making it difficult to determine fact from fiction. There is talk of evacuation. Teachers who were present for the 2011 Revolution say that the situation today is worse than anything they experienced two years ago; certainly the death toll is higher. There is talk that more weapons are pouring in from the Sinai and that other cachements of weapons are beginning to trickle into the Sinai from nearby Syria. There is talk of al-Qaeda operatives in the region. Orphans are allegedly being paid by the members of the Brotherhood to be present during the protests thus insuring that children will be among the dead piling up in the mosques near the protesting sites. Marches to the main constitutional court in our neighborhood of Ma'adi are apparently being planned. Hundreds of Coptic churches are perhaps being razed by marauding bands of extremists. No one feels safe amidst the swirling rumors, and so we are called to a briefing.

Fortunately our school has a dedicated security department who are in constant contact with the security details at both the U.S and U.K. Embassies. Based on very current information, we are told that hundreds of Egyptians have indeed been killed today. All embassies have closed for the day, but none have as yet closed for good. Egyptian security forces have contained the protests in both areas and have not found evidence of large caches of weapons. Marches in Ma'adi are not happening. Up to 50 Coptic Christian churches in the country have been damaged by fire and/or looting, and we are told to avoid going near these churches at the moment. There is a national, military curfew being put into place that will be in force from 7 p.m. to 6 a.m. People caught out after curfew will be subject to being stopped and searched; possibly arrested. The curfew will be in place for the foreseeable future. The local streets being relatively calm, we are then told to go home.

We do, and quickly.

There are three or four small general grocery markets between our school and our home. Depending on which walking route we take, any of these grocers offer us a wider variety of foods than we were able to find at our previous international posting. We do not know how long we will be house-bound, so we stop by the nearest grocer, arranging to have several bags of food and water delivered to the house. One of the many fantastic aspects about our neighborhood is that all local businesses will deliver ... anything. Inside, the store is a beehive of activity. We are not the only ones who want to stock up "just in case." We are nonetheless able to purchase everything we need for the next couple of days, and we head for home.

Just a few steps outside of the market, the streets are quiet. We pause to take a few pictures of the empty, tree-lined streets to post back to concerned family and friends.

We arrive back, safe and sound. A few minutes after we are back, the groceries arrive. We buzz the delivery person up. He enters our flat, arms full of our bags and large plastic jugs of water. I thank him, looking him in the eye and shaking his outstretched hand firmly. This is a regional custom among men, and one that I try to practice. He beams, pausing.

"My name is Hamid."

"I am Kyle."

"Please to meet you, Mr. Kyle." He pronounces my name more like 'keel.'

"I will be at the store every day. You may be a little frightened, and this should not happen. Anything you need; any time not feeling safe, please come," he says. He is earnest.

We shake hands again. I want to cry.

"Thank you, Hamid ... Thank you."

"Ma'a Assalama!" he says as he leaves.

"Ma'a Assalama!" I respond. The phrase we exchange, Hamid and I, translated means 'good-bye with peace and security'.