About the dream, injustice, and other matters
By Ahmed Gamal Ziada
May 30, Cairo: People haven't been to sleep yet, their eyes are still awake not sure though if their hearts were as wake ! it is still 11 PM.
I was on the pedestrian bridge in front of Cairo university metro station, one of the most crowded places in Cairo, and the most secure; regarding the vast number of Surveillance cameras all around the station. cameras are also at the front gate of the university, couple meters away from Bolak El Dakroor police station. under the pedestrian lies a row of microbuses heading to Faisal and Al Haram, with their drivers competing to catch new customers.
On the top of the stairs, I walk by every day stands a young man of twenty. I didn’t care about him but he was waiting for me. I preceded him with one step when he suddenly put his arm around my neck and tried to drag me down. “ come here my love “ , he said . only I don’t really think that I am his love!
A new guy showed up coming from downstairs with great haste toward us , he was wearing a short gown with jeans underneath it, and a white turban. He was one meter away when it took him seconds to point a double-barreled shotgun at me. he was aiming at my stomach and he was ready to shoot, but I didn’t give him a chance. I don’t know how I managed to control the barrel , I caught it with my right hand and laid it behind my back, I determined not to let it go no matter what happens. At that time, the young man of twenty pointed out a sharp weapon ; a penknife maybe ; and started to stab me. A stab went through a cord of my right hand, another bigger stab got to my palm. I didn’t feel it though, I was only thinking about the shotgun.
People around us were staring as if they were watching a thriller movie, a good one. well, it was a good one; at least, it was exclusive and free .
The stabs kept going through me. One of the stabs in my back went too deep it got to my lung, another one close to my heart, and another in the middle of the left thigh; in an attempt to cut an artery . A smaller, less dangerous one beneath it. Another one in the right thigh and lots of other cuts and bruises that I don’t remember.
Back then I didn’t feel all the stabs, but I suddenly fell on the floor, and felt all the blood around me. I tried to scream but my voice failed me and I couldn’t, and even if I could; why would I scream and all the people around me are already watching. I was paralyzed, and the man with the shotgun pointed it at me again, but he didn’t shoot; perhaps he was afraid of the helpless people, or perhaps he thought I wasn’t moving because my soul has departed my body! They both ran away when one of the people started shouting “ they ran away in a private car “ after he cursed them and followed the curse with a prayer! I was about to laugh at his shout; it was as if he was surprised, and not standing there watching from the beginning! I couldn’t laugh.
The people gathered around me waiting for me to die, none of them dared to get closer; may be they were afraid that my blood might stain their clothes, or may be for safety reasons. some men came from Bolak region and they rushed me to Bolak El Dakroor hospital.
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I saw his tears falling, he was in vain trying to stop it. It was after the first surgery I had, when the doctors attached strange tubes to my body. Blood was going out, and saline solution was going in, drugs and painkillers were in my veins. A giant tube was laid beside my heart, it was too heavy and centered beneath my heart as if I was born with it, every slight move caused me a great deal of pain. I heard one of the doctors telling my brother to keep watching the tube: “ if it stopped delivering blood, your brother’s life might stop as well “.
I looked back at the man who was crying, I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming or not, I tried to remember where have I seen him before. Someone called him “ Taher “, I remembered him, he was Dr. TaherMokhtar member of rights and freedoms commission at the doctors syndicate, and a co-founder of boycott Israel campaign, and one of the heads of a campaign demanding the right of medical care to all detainees in Egypt. We met in El-Nadeem center, while we were in an event supporting MahaMekkawy, who was on a hunger strike; after the enforced disappearance of her husband. I don’t know why he was crying, we were not that close friends, in fact, he wasn’t only crying, he was doing all he can to save me, he was with Dr. Aida SeifEldawla and Dr. Ahmed Salim, trying to transfer me to another hospital. At that time it was as if he had fallen from the sky in a mission to rescue me, he was everywhere, he was with me in Ahmed Maher hospital, he was even with me in the ambulance!
At the new hospital, they discovered a new cut in my arm that they missed to see in Bolak hospital. I was immediately rushed to the operation room, and I had another surgery. The Doctors were working with a great devotion that I didn’t see in local hospitals before, all of Taher’s colleagues were as devoted as he was. Taher didn’t leave me a day, and he was the one who advised me to leave the hospital soon, for he was afraid that the idiots of the security guards might harm my friends, who were visiting me in the hospital. After I got home, I learned that It wasn’t personal; Taher has never given up on any person in need before, he is only helping because of his high morals and for the sake of humanity. Taher was arrested few days later on the charge of participating in 25 January revolution. I think you might be puzzled by this charge, or perhaps you think it is an exaggeration, but I don’t see a reason for your puzzlement; the current regime is the first antagonist of the revolution. Even the regime of Mubarak hadn’t committed as many crimes as the current one!
The doctor said this sentence and left. I looked at the bucket with sorrow, I remembered the time I spent in solitary cells; I was held there for three times; the narrow, empty cells that contain nothing but a plastic bucket. For a moment, I felt a great deal of pain when I remembered all the detainees I left behind in prison, those who have to use a plastic bucket. I felt a great deal of pain that I was meant to use plastic buckets inside and outside prison.
Mohammed Nabil insisted that I should go to the restrooms, he didn’t mind to help me there as if he was the father and I was the disabled son. Nabil as well was crying, his tears wet my bleeding arm, he was trembling and promising not to let this crime go, but he was arrested two days later from his own house; in the charge of organizing a nine people protest! He didn’t participate in this protest, but they arrested him anyway; because people like him always annoy them, they took him alongside EimanAbdElmageed, SherifElrouby, and Mahmoud Hisham. After all, Protesting is the crime that the whole Egyptian nation is being punished for, after overthrowing Mubarak’s regime. The SSI services invented a new movement called “ 25 January Youth Movement “, and arrested journalist Mahmoud Elsaka, and activist SherifDiab on the charge of joining it ! They are simply fighting all whom able to think, thinking will ultimately lead to the fact that the current regime is not eligible for running a state hall not a whole state!
She continually wipes the sweat out of my face; despite the coldness of winter, she cares for some of my wounds, she is MahaMekkawy, wife of the lawyer Ashraf Shihata, who has been enforcedly disappeared for the past two years.In another side of the room stands Mona Seif and Dr. Leila Souif, the story of this family is known for everybody, a father who died out of sadness on his detained children, and a son who got repeatedly arrested during the rule of different regimes, all of which shares the addiction of oppression.
Someone is concerned about my safety from the prosecutor, all the reporters around me, Dr. Aida SeifEldawla, a human rights defender, and the founder of Elnadeem rehabilitation center for victims of violence and torture.she doesn’t want to leave alone during the investigation, unless the lawyer comes. Her existence is essential in the lives of all who suffered injustice.
Next to my bed stands my friend Ahmed Mostafa, who spent over a year in prison away from his wife and son. He devoted himself entirely to serve me and my family during the time of my sickness, his nobility has always reminded me of my late friend Ahmed Elmasry.Elmasry was killed by the police fire. Elmasry was shot, and in his funeral, they arrested the rest of our friends and condemned them to life on the false charge of hijacking roads. Don’t be amazed it is our lofty judiciary represented in NagiShihata!
ZizoAbdo is arranging the entry and exit of my visitors; for the sake of my comfort. Zizo has been detained too many times, one of which was in the scorpion prison, MamdouhGamal lost lots of his life behind bars as well, taking care of the small details that will grant my comfort. Omar Morsi, one of the revolution casualties and a former detainee, he is always ready to support all who needs him.
Mostafa Maher, brother of Ahmed Maher, he is always laughing in an attempt to lighten the mood . Ahmed Nabil, a singer who I met in Abo Zaabal prison, he came that day to sing me the song I adore the most “ O, Egypt “ .Mother of detainee Rami Elsaid is checking on me after she gave me a letter from her detained son. mother of martyr Shihab didn’t forget that I have once defended her late son.Father of Martyr Gaber Salah calls repeatedly to check on me, and mother of Martyr Khalid Elrasheedy sent her apology; for not being able to come visit herself.
Which one of us in that damn room haven’t suffered injustice and abuse? and which one of us is willing to give up his dreams of justice and liberty now; after all the pain we got through ? Our dream lasts, and your counter-revolution decays .
The Oslo Times