Saturday, 4 January 2014

Conversation With A Egyptian Activist

...Do I drive like Egyptian? Like I’m crazy? Like a step in front of me is a one-hit death? Mashallah, (God has willed it) we speak collision. There is always smoke curling from our engines, see the Souk? You call it market? Our spices are the colours of eruption. That’s why Soldiers impose curfews from streets, and we keep our fires in, house parties held behind every door, these were nights of hashish and tipsy-talk, but my friend, no Champagne leaves our shelves with the military barb wiring our roads, you’d have to load your tongue with Arabic to skin scrape our red African revolution. Change is the slowest train you can catch in Egypt, we’ve lost blood and patience waiting for it...

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