I carried dead bodies yesterday. The blood and glass still stain these hands that checked the pulse of the Egyptian merchant lying twisted in the street. As I longingly felt for life, a man reached over and closed the pale eyes.
Earlier, sitting in the restaurant along the boardwalk waiting for daal while joking with the girls hawking bracelets, I was startled by the first blast, looking up in bewilderment like being shaken from a dream -- perhaps it is a festival or fireworks commemorating the Arab holiday. As the second and third concussions threw sparks and harsh light over the rooftops from the next street, with crystal clarity I understood, gathered my belongings and camera, and headed to the sight of the conflagration in a run. At the center of the the town is a supermarket where I'd recently bought juice and snacks, paroozing cheery postcards of camels and beaches. Now it lay in ruins, strewn with glass and garbage, a hundred people frantically running around the bodies thrown like rag dolls at awkward angles in pools of crimson and dust.
My medical training did not prepare me for the confusion of dealing with a heap of moaning people all bekoning for mercy. Searching through the rubble for cloth, I wadded up a rag to stuff in a chest wound pouring blood and organs. While thoughts of diseases transmitted to my cut fingers danced in my head, I saw some confident men using doors as stretchers and relented, teaming up to help carry the wounded and dead to their respective destinations. Eariler that day I'd been diving and reading and tanning in the warm sun and gentle breezes. Now the ambulence sirens scream and the crowd gathers at a distance in stunned silence.
I was running around in a crazed state with the motivated few who were doing anything, taking photos to commemorate this tragic event until an angry man grabbed my hand bending my fingers back, threatening to break them until I relented on my knees with cries of "salaam, salaam!" Peace, peace is what we need when there is such a backlash of anger and frustration, dividing us on the convenient lines of race. Just as the police began barracading the area, I ran off into the darkness, witnessing a tourist lead away between two cops, his camera confiscated -- I obviously got lucky twice over.
After being near two bombings in the past 6 months I am beginning to question my choice of travel destinations -- which is exactly what these terrorists want -- so I am trying to make a conscious decision to not play into their hands. Lightning rarely strikes twice, yes?
Walking away from the scene I overheard confused chatter wondering who and why and how. Packed taxis roared past out of town as the locals stood dazed and unable to flee from the massacre and their obvious fate -- their entire existence perched on the precarious whims of tourism.
With Egypt averaging a bombing a year for the last 5, you can understand the frustration of my friends Ahmed and Hamdi who vented for hours back at the dive shop. Ahmed is a talented Telcom engineer who was having issues finding work in Cairo as he did not have the connections of his peers to overcome the rampant unemployment, so decided to take up a job as an underwater videographer here in Dahab. After investing in equipment and marketing materials, he is crushed to realize that he will have to pursue one of his other dreams -- which he says he has many as they are so often crushed.
The words of Naguib Mafouz, who won the Nobel Prize for his tales of Cairo, drift back with the warm winds, suggesting that much like the characters in his "Midaq Alley" who endured murder and betrayal, life will resume its routine and the shifting sands of time will etch away at memory until only myth and legend remain. Today the military and media have infiltrated the town, and hundreds of tourists stand around photographing the bloody footprints from behind the "Do Not Cross" police lines. I had breakfast at my favorite falafel stand, glad that the curator and his family were well.
So I will stay around for a couple more days to support this beautiful community, consle friends, and to simply witness the aftermath of this incredible devestation. And to seek the answers to the ever perplexing "Why?" A frantic policeman had searched some of the tourists at the dive shop, simply trying to so something, however these sorts of attacks are nearly impossible to prevent -- so when can we begin to address the underlying ideological issues? What will it take to prevent our numbed minds from sinking back into the dark fog of Midaq Alley?
Earlier, sitting in the restaurant along the boardwalk waiting for daal while joking with the girls hawking bracelets, I was startled by the first blast, looking up in bewilderment like being shaken from a dream -- perhaps it is a festival or fireworks commemorating the Arab holiday. As the second and third concussions threw sparks and harsh light over the rooftops from the next street, with crystal clarity I understood, gathered my belongings and camera, and headed to the sight of the conflagration in a run. At the center of the the town is a supermarket where I'd recently bought juice and snacks, paroozing cheery postcards of camels and beaches. Now it lay in ruins, strewn with glass and garbage, a hundred people frantically running around the bodies thrown like rag dolls at awkward angles in pools of crimson and dust.
My medical training did not prepare me for the confusion of dealing with a heap of moaning people all bekoning for mercy. Searching through the rubble for cloth, I wadded up a rag to stuff in a chest wound pouring blood and organs. While thoughts of diseases transmitted to my cut fingers danced in my head, I saw some confident men using doors as stretchers and relented, teaming up to help carry the wounded and dead to their respective destinations. Eariler that day I'd been diving and reading and tanning in the warm sun and gentle breezes. Now the ambulence sirens scream and the crowd gathers at a distance in stunned silence.
I was running around in a crazed state with the motivated few who were doing anything, taking photos to commemorate this tragic event until an angry man grabbed my hand bending my fingers back, threatening to break them until I relented on my knees with cries of "salaam, salaam!" Peace, peace is what we need when there is such a backlash of anger and frustration, dividing us on the convenient lines of race. Just as the police began barracading the area, I ran off into the darkness, witnessing a tourist lead away between two cops, his camera confiscated -- I obviously got lucky twice over.
After being near two bombings in the past 6 months I am beginning to question my choice of travel destinations -- which is exactly what these terrorists want -- so I am trying to make a conscious decision to not play into their hands. Lightning rarely strikes twice, yes?
Walking away from the scene I overheard confused chatter wondering who and why and how. Packed taxis roared past out of town as the locals stood dazed and unable to flee from the massacre and their obvious fate -- their entire existence perched on the precarious whims of tourism.
With Egypt averaging a bombing a year for the last 5, you can understand the frustration of my friends Ahmed and Hamdi who vented for hours back at the dive shop. Ahmed is a talented Telcom engineer who was having issues finding work in Cairo as he did not have the connections of his peers to overcome the rampant unemployment, so decided to take up a job as an underwater videographer here in Dahab. After investing in equipment and marketing materials, he is crushed to realize that he will have to pursue one of his other dreams -- which he says he has many as they are so often crushed.
The words of Naguib Mafouz, who won the Nobel Prize for his tales of Cairo, drift back with the warm winds, suggesting that much like the characters in his "Midaq Alley" who endured murder and betrayal, life will resume its routine and the shifting sands of time will etch away at memory until only myth and legend remain. Today the military and media have infiltrated the town, and hundreds of tourists stand around photographing the bloody footprints from behind the "Do Not Cross" police lines. I had breakfast at my favorite falafel stand, glad that the curator and his family were well.
So I will stay around for a couple more days to support this beautiful community, consle friends, and to simply witness the aftermath of this incredible devestation. And to seek the answers to the ever perplexing "Why?" A frantic policeman had searched some of the tourists at the dive shop, simply trying to so something, however these sorts of attacks are nearly impossible to prevent -- so when can we begin to address the underlying ideological issues? What will it take to prevent our numbed minds from sinking back into the dark fog of Midaq Alley?
posted by yelloideas at 2:07 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home