The Tumultuous Months of 2011
I know I haven’t posted anything since November, but thankfully, I’m still alive and in some ways I’m also thankful that I’m still in London. My beloved Cairo has changed so much since I left (is that a complete coincidence?
) and I have no idea if I’ll return, but I wrote the following piece on 31 December 2011 and wanted to share it with you all here. It’s a little more personal than you might be used to, but it’s from me and about my journey in 2011. Enjoy. ~ LY.
P.S. I’ve split the post into several pages for ease of reading, so to read more, click the next page number.
Once upon a time, in a tale that held no fairies at all and in a world that is as real as the air you suck into your lungs, there was a young lady. For the sake of this story, we’ll call her LaYinka Sanni, because it’s quite a pretty name.
One night – let’s say on the 31st December 2011 – LaYinka sat to think back on the year and all that was dished out to her. For each month of 2011, she was able to mention an event that either helped to mould her, challenge her, shake her, enrage her, soothe her, console her, restrict her or free her. Each month had its own tale to tell, and in this story LaYinka recants them to you. Sit comfortably because LaYinka likes to talk, and it’ll be a long one!
Unplugged
Unplug and disconnect – two verbs that refer to precisely what I had to do when reading about the current events in Tahrir Square; when it became all too much to bear. The fact of the matter is that I cry easily – my heart is easily stirred and my eyes involuntarily hit a switch where tears pour forth. I have no control over this whatsoever, and wiping away tears with my cardigan sleeves has been a recurrent action this week, and it reached a point where I thought, Khalas – bas keda! Enough.
It’s horrifying watching the news, seeing barbaric violence and total disregard for the sanctity of human life. This is not a case of drawing lots on religious or political leanings, it’s about the values that we hold as people – as humans.
I was present during the 25th January revolution, was evacuated and returned, and at every instance I knew that it was only the beginning of a bigger struggle. I will not get into the politics of Egypt for two main reasons:
1) I’m not an Egyptian, I didn’t live as an Egyptian under Mubarak’s regime and frankly I don’t know what it was like.
2) Whatever I say makes absolutely no difference to the lives of the people living through the revolution’s aftermath.
However, I will say that a true revolution takes more than presidential/ parliamentary/ military change – change begins at home, and thus there is the missing element: the revolution of the self.
And just as the fog that’s been hanging over the skies of London finally lifted today, I pray that the fog of sense is lifted from the eyes of SCAF, as well as the fog of deception to be lifted from the short-sighted who cannot see what the revolution should really be about.
Praying for peace, progress and security,
LaYinka S. (The Londoner)
A Mansion in a Dump Yard
“Haven’t you noticed how there are no bins around?” She asked.
It was close to 7pm and we were making our way to St. Paul’s Cathedral in central London. The streets were lively with people bustling to get home after working until stupendous hours (yes, 7pm is stupendous!) in the City. We’d just cleared a ricebowl each from Itsu, and the next step would have been to free our hands of the empty containers. Littering was not an option. Not because you can be fined if caught doing so (a redundant, rarely enforced law, I tell you!) but because it simply isn’t right to do so. Therefore I couldn’t understand why in the world we couldn’t find a single bin in which to dispose of our trash. Not one!
At that moment I had a ‘back in Cairo’ flashback, and found myself walking along 2asr el 3ainy street, with the smell of fuul bubbling and ta3miya frying to only then kick into empty containers and wrappers that had been thrown out of car windows or carelessly dropped by pedestrians. Why? Not just because there are no bins on the streets – this is the scene I was faced with in London; not because there wasn’t anyone to sweep the mess – the poor men clad in dirty, ripped orange jumpsuits literally break their backs to sweep up rubbish from the streets; but simply because of the mentality of the people. In my humble opinion, it really is as simple as that.
Born to be Hot
Raised eyebrow. Wide eyes. Mouth slightly ajar. I guess I have this effect on people sometimes – when I make outbursts like:
I wasn’t created to live in a cold country!
Although some people go into a mini state of shock when I say that, I still stand by my words: I simply do – not – like – cold – weather. There.
I was born in Nigeria, (Yes, you DID know. Didn’t you? No? Moving on.) and although I was raised in the UK and learned to deal with the weather tantrums, living in Egypt was an absolute breath of fresh air. *sigh* No, the air wasn’t fresh, but you know what I mean. It was cool… in the ‘cool’ sort of way. Ya3ny fantastic. I loved it, and despite being veiled and having a love for cardigans (which I miraculously donned in 40 degrees without sweating!), I was in a climate I believe God created me to be in.
Befriending Sterling
“Stop thinking in Egyptian pounds!” she shouted, “you’re in London now!”
One would have thought that at that moment when my sister said that, I would’ve had my eyes uncovered and become aware of the fact that I was no longer standing on Egyptian sand – no chance. The fact that I was wearing a wraparound cardigan and socks indoors as opposed to playing around with the air conditioner remote control was enough of a reality check – I am in London.
It’s been hard to stop thinking of things in Egyptian pounds. Going grocery shopping and seeing £50 and then automatically gasping at the thought that ‘Oh my gosh, I just spent 500 Egyptian pounds on food!’ hasn’t been easy to shake off, especially when it’s accompanied by ‘I only ever spent 300 ginay in Cairo! Rip off!
See my point?
But then… I think of the delight of being able to purchase wild rocket, piquante peppers and Twiglets with great ease. The heart really is being pulled in different directions, but it’s getting better, and the sterling and I are becoming reacquainted, and we’re trying to be friends. Trying.
- LaYinka S. (The Londoner)
