Al- Istiqrar (The stability)

Midan Tahrir is the stage of an absurd theatre performance. It has been closed with fences and it might look like a normal pedestrian area. It’s 8 o clock in the evening and Mubarak has given a speech a couple of hours ago saying that he is the victim of an unjust campaign and that he will submit  proofs to the authorities that he is far from any allegation of corruption. In the square small groups of people gather around a young woman who repeats the ex-president  speech to provoke their indignation. Others just walk around to take pictures of themselves in the square. There is a burnt autobus parked  just in the middle of the square,( rest of Friday’s night battle), where all the rubbish collected in the square has been stored. This is the most popular location for a facebook profile picture. There are people selling fresca, caramel apples and nuts. The floor is covered by stones. Tourists buy souvenirs.Children wave small Egyptian flags.

The people walking around in Tahrir are not the ones you expect to see. They have flaming red eyes, they are not well dressed and seem not to belong to any intellectual rank. But are those people who are still standing in Tahrir and protecting the battlefield, and not insisting on  the damned word Istiqrar, stability, which is the main theme of every single conversation. They are the one who really hope for the istiqrar and they do not need any intellectual frame to realise that the stability is still very far to be achieved.

Alshaab yurid al-esteqrar. The people want to return to the normal, the stability. The absurd lies in the fact that apparently life is normal again. Shops open, people going to work, army surveilling the streets. I have a job, I have friends, a nice flat. Egyptain people still make jokes. I have a…smile. But when I walk around Tahrir, I feel the same disorientation.

The man wallking in front of me choosed to stop in front of the graffiti “Midan al Shuhadah” (Martirs square) to take his profile picture. I am still wondering around the wood, baladi coffee shops and my mother’s kitchen and I don’t know which landscape belong me the most.

Fire in Cairo

Last Monday the Ministry of the Interior, located next to my house,  was burning. Dozens of firemen cars were passing by, while we were sitting at “our” coffee-shop, which is just round the corner of the Ministry. Their sirens were covering our voices. I had just come back from the neibourghood of Zamalek, where a solidarity demonstration was held in front of the Lybian Embassy, it had  taken me one hour to come back by taxi. I live in the area where all the ministers and public offices are located, so it’s like the safest place, as all the army is concentrated here, but at the same time, it’s the hottest spot.

Last Monday was the first time that we really met after so long. We both came alone, and he took off his glasses, which was for me was a sign of modesty.  While we were sitting at the coffee shop, people were running by to go and see the burnt building. We could smell the smoke and we had to shout louder than the sirens to hear each other. The police itself burnt the ministry, the owner of the café told me. Ommal eh? They want higher salaries, and the only way they find to protest is burning! Of course the main subject of our discussion was the revolution. It was clear that we had both closed the book, without questioning too much about it.

Demonstrations, imprisonment, being beaten by the police was more an adventure for him, as for many other voices I have heard before. For many young people it was ayyam helwa, nice days. For many foreigners it was “so fucking fun”. For an old taxi driver, it was a lesson of love. But also, for many adults it is now a broken economy, an event that delayed many activities and canceled many upcoming projects.

Whatever it is, it is something to be proud of. And Egyptians like to show off, at least as much as the Italians, undoubtely the opposite of Norwegians. And this event make them so proud, that sometimes seems to take their interest off from anything else. Well, sheddu helkum ya gama’a, get ready, because now it’s not time to celebrate anymore or to complain for the Muslim Brothers. Now it’s the time for real change. 

Egypt after the revolution

I am back to my community in Cairo. Nothing seems to be changed but actually everything is different. I have missed the revolution but I am still in time to live its immediate effects.

Cairo under the curfew is not the same any more. Forget sitting at Taka’yba until the dawn. Last order in Hurreya is at 11pm, and at 11,30 we have to pull ourself together and run, to be at home before midnight.

The house of love, where I have spent the most meaningful days of my life, has been rented by someone else, but my old orange bedcover is still hanging on the balcony. It has its meaning also. It helps me to realize that the old days are over, and I have started a new phase of my life. Now I am sharing a flat with a Lebanese girl very close to Downtown.

There are two tanks parked under my building and dozens of soldiers sitting in front of the gate of the building. They are supposed to give me a sense of security, but for me they represent more the ghost of the past demonstrations. I look at them yawning from my window, and I can even hear the music played by their mobiles. I would like to throw roses at them, or teddy bears, just to keep them busy. Actually the soldiers are the new stars of the revolution. They are well-dressed and good-looking. Groups of teenagers stand around them to take photos and their mobile numbers. 

 The revolution has also made a new business: tshirts for 15 pounds “Rais up your head, you are Egyptian”, stickers “25 January” and even glasses and mugs with the colours of the Egyptian flag. The name of the metro station Mubarak has been canceled with a red pencil in every car of the underground and replaced with Revolution “25^th January”. In every taxi, corner, shop, or coffee shop people talk about politics. Yes, the lazy, selfless Egyptians, whose slogan was Ma’lesh, Bokra, in sha allah ( No Problem, Tomorrow, God willing) now are concerned to change their country and to continue their struggle for democracy.

Today was the big day. The Referendum for the Constitution amendments. Our friends went to vote for the first time in their life. And I was there with them, queuing for 3 hours, under the sun, looking at their patience and excitement. Men, women, old and young people, discussing about yes or no, sharing food and water, taking photos of their red fingers. And actually their red finger was the first conquest of this revolution. We still don’t know what will come out of it, if they will accept the amendments of if they will manage to have a new constitution. But the core of this day was that for the first time people felt that their voice had a meaning.

Egypt is a long story. Hikeya. And everyone is a storyteller.Hakkawy. I could stand listening for hours, with my eyes and my mouth wide open and my dreamy attitude, my usual face expression for which everybody like to make fun of me.

Serate al Blå

Io e Laura stavamo sorseggiando la nostra birra al Blå decidendo se optare per il concerto dei Belle and Sebastian o quello dei Mogway, in programma lo stesso giorno del prossimo Marzo.
Un vecchietto allampanato norvegese si ferma dinanzi a noi. Indossa il classico maglione norvegese blu e rosso con i fiocchi di neve ricamati e ride di gusto. Ci apostrofa cosi':
- Aggie state 13 anni a Napoli!. (con accento norvegese marcato!)
- E che facevi?
- O parcheggiator, ngopp Casert!
- E dove vivevi?
- A Poggiomarocco?
- Poggiomarocco?
- Si, a Poggiomarino, mmiezzz e marrucchin!
Afferma di essere amico di Padre Pio ma non della chiesa, di essere andato molte volte a Torre Annunziata in bicicletta vestito come un albero di Natale (a fare cosa?) e che la birra "me ncepp".
Un giovane norvegese paffutto e con barba metal si avvicina e ci chiede se stessimo parlando portoghese (???). Ipotizza che siamo in Norvegia perche ci piace il Metal e vogliamo incendiare le chiese, perche' e' quello che fanno tutti gli Italiani a Oslo. Aggiunge che lui non ha nulla contro i cristiani ma si diverte a bruciare i pentagrammi nelle foreste, 'cause you don't have to dress up for it."
Sostiene che dietro l'acquisto dei rifiuti di Napoli da parte della Norvegia ci sia un tentativo di discretare gli anarchici da parte dei comunisti e tira fuori sigle, numeri, documenti segreti.
Il vecchietto norvegese che si chiama Trigve ma si fa chiamare Vitto' si ingelosisce del nostro nuovo amico e cerca di monopolizzare di nuovo la conversazione con il suo napoletano fluente.
"Me n'aggia ii'. C'o verimm"
E il soggetto anarchico e' raggiunto da un altro amico paffuto e dice: "I have to go and take care of this friend."
Uno se ne va verso il ponticello a destra, l'altro rientra nel locale.
Io e Laura interdette ci avviamo verso un kebab shop.

The postman

My three weeks holidays in Italy are over and I am back to Oslo.
It has been such an experience. The first time for me to be in hometown by myself, I mean, without anyone in tow. Tragedies have been wisely avoided, showing enough fear and respect by both parts and deep understanding by mutual friends.  I actually experienced a nice feeling of freedom, and rewarded by the attention and care given by long-standing friends and newly-found old-friends.

Newly-found old-friends. The postman came back, after more than 5 years. From the emotional farewell given on the steps of ULU building in London, to platform number 8 in Milano train station. I watched him looking around to find me on the platform while I was standing far. I couldn't associate this image with the name that I repeated to myself and to my close friends so many times, so I couldn't step further.
The thing is that five years ago love meant "idealization" while now, it turned to be "no expectations". Thus, while my cynic side of the brain was saying: "distrust", my romantic side was choosing the soundtrack for this film-like meeting and my aesthetic side was saying that he looked more beautiful than ever. All that while he was coming closer and closer.
So, what about if you start with no expectations, you just go there because you want to add another adventure to your exciting life, and than you discover than reality is so sadly better than dreams?

Where have you been in these five years? Circumstances.
But the truth is that we were not ready for it.

What about if you get close to someone from the other way round?
What about if you discover that you are incredibly similar and you keep saying to yourself that for this reason it wouldn't work?
We don't know each other, so we can tell everything and being clear from the first moment. Then, we are living a similar phase in our life: we have both been taken to a new place by circumstances, both fed up with distance,  both living alone for the first time, both still writing, in our solitary cozy apartments, making up funny endings for our short stories.

This weekend maybe does not take to anywhere. But we dreamt  about new travels, films to be watched and written, songs to be exchanged and larger beds to be warmed.
It it's a rose, it will blossom, my father told me on the phone.
For now, it's only the image of two pigeons cooing under the glass roof of Milano station.

Noah and the whale - Five years time