Terrorist bomb attacks on the 3rd anniversary of the uprising

We were warned.

Friends and family warned us, of course. But they are people not necessarily in the know. We take that into consideration. 

We get email updates from the US Embassy. Long, tedious messages. They are virtually identical, week after week. Americans living in Cairo should avoid public places, blah, blah, blah. Some government hack cutting and pasting the same message, week in and week out. American citizens should remain vigilant. Of course we should. I could say the same thing about Memphians, right? Be vigilant, Midtowners!

We were warned. 

This week's cut and paste job from the Embassy includes an additional blurb about remaining vigilant over the coming weekend, the 3rd anniversary of the uprising that toppled the Mubarak regime. I scan over it, blah, blah, blah. I toss the message into the virtual incinerator. I don't think anything more of it.

We were warned.

It's early morning the next morning. The sun isn't up yet. I have been up for an hour or so, well into my second cup of coffee. It is so quiet. I am writing.

A jolt. The air thuds and the windows rattle. The walls shake. Sonic boom? I have only heard one in my life. Maybe. The rumble is longer, though. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. The northern end of the apartment sounds like it is falling. I start running for the back of the flat. The hallway is so long all of a sudden. Roused awake, Dana is calling out. Not a sonic boom. I don't know how I know, but I know. Not a sonic boom. An explosion. And it sounds close.

"That was a bomb!" Dana says as I reach her. I sit next to her on the edge of the bed. She is still too sleepy to completely register what she has just said.

"Yeah ..." My voice shakes. One stupid word of affirmation, and my voice shakes. 

We hold each other for what seems like a long time. Long enough to make sure the back of the house is not crumbling. Long enough to make sure there is nothing burning.

"That was an explosion," I say quietly. "I am going to get on Twitter to see."

I go. I start my search with "#Maadi". There is already a lot of activity. A dozen or so people are commenting. All heard the explosion. So did people in all the surrounding suburbs. Huge explosion, they all say. 

A freelance journalist lives a couple of streets over. I follow him on Twitter. You do that kind of thing when you live in a foreign, not-so-safe country. You get to know the people in your neighborhood who know things. My friend the journalist knows things. This morning he is already on it, #CairoBomb. The explosion came from downtown, he says, identifying the district. Smoke is rising from the area, and gunfire has been reported. He is on his way. I am sitting in my living room, terrified and embracing a cup of coffee. I am also wondering what the hell kind of bomb can be felt from miles away.

I start to Tweet-follow another guy, a freelance journalist here in Cairo. He, too, is heading downtown, #CairoExplosion. From him, I learn that a huge bomb went off in front of one of Egypt's downtown government buildings, one of the places where police and security personnel meet. There are reports of fatalities already. There is a crater where the bomb went off. There is damage to the building across the street from the security building, a museum of Islamic art. Hundreds of people are already milling about, chanting about God and the destruction of the Muslim Brotherhood.

More comments from people all around Cairo come streaming in. What the hell, they ask? The shit is hitting the fan, they say. The Muslim Brotherhood is behind this, some say. Others say it is a rebel, terrorist organization. This organization tweeted last night on their Twitter channel, promising to kill police.

We were warned.

By this time, my two Twitter friends have arrived on the scene downtown. Both are beginning to comment upon what they are seeing. The entire front of the security building is damaged. There are people everywhere. A handful of men are heading into the building to find survivors. They can hear them, screaming and moaning. Some of the men are carrying out bodies, crudely wrapped mummies. Then my Twitter friends go silent. I follow others on the scene. A couple of tweets warn western journalists to stay away, that the early journalists on the scene were mobbed. I walk back to the bedroom, making sure all of the locks on the front door are bolted.

About an hour after the explosion, BBC picks up the story. Details emerge involving a pick-up truck packed with explosives and charging the gate of the building. There are confirmed fatalities. There is a crater in the middle of the street where the bomb detonated. Western journalists have been detained and forced to show identification and credentials. Once identified however, they are free to continue their investigative reports. A terrorist organization with no links to the Muslim Brotherhood claims responsibility. Hundreds of Egyptians have gathered outside of the damaged building and are chanting pro-democracy and anti-Brotherhood slogans. Police and security forces are pouring into the area. The Minister of the Interior is on his way. There will be an investigation launched, and the planners and perpetrators of this heinous act will be brought to justice.

Then in another quarter of Cairo, a second bomb goes off. And then a third. And then a fourth. We do not feel the thud of the subsequent detonations. They are smaller apparently, but no less lethal. By now my two Twitter friends, #CairoBomb and #CairoExplosion, are up and broadcasting again. They write that in each of this morning's bomb attacks, it is police and security force detachments that have been targeted. However, two of the security detachments targeted were operating near metro stations. There are more casualties. The bombings seem to be a part of a coordinated effort. Local hospitals put out tweets, asking for blood donors. This is bad.

We were warned.

A new constitution was to have put an end to security concerns, we were told. We didn't really believe the rhetoric, but we certainly thought there would be some security in the days immediately after the referendum. Maybe the disgruntled and disenfranchised would just give up in the wake of the results of the popular vote. Not so, it seems. 

Having nothing to which to compare our present experience, Dana and I are a little numb this morning. We will stay indoors, of course; a self-imposed curfew. We will continue to follow the Twitter accounts and news reports. We will continue to wonder as to whether or not we will have school next week. Or if the Embassy will be pulling out. Or if the current situation escalates, and we are evacuated. We will wonder whether we made a mistake. We will wonder, like another one of my Twitter-friends, whether #Cairo will end up like #Damascus or #Baghdad.