If I could ever choose to go back and relive one moment of time, it would be this. Not that it would make a difference at all to what would happen afterwards. Everything was already there, we just couldn’t see it.
It is dusk. The outbursts of chants, the animated chatter, all the words, the emotions had now subsided to the dull-like ambience of background noise. We shift around restlessly, anxiously. Tired, drained. Looking at our phones, we see that there is still no coverage in the square. It’s day number 18. Air jets fly low over us. A familiar event by now. We need to decide on a number of things, some more immediate than others. We look around us, the lives being lived out. A glimmer of the future in the present.
A sudden murmur turns into a clamor. Alert now, we look around trying to see, to find out. Do we need to run? Regroup? Find a safe place? ”He stepped down, he stepped down”. The words are being shouted out, but we ….. It’s the third time over the past few days that we have “heard” that one. We look at each other, and shrug our shoulders.
A man starts running around the square with his laptop showing the live streaming news to the incredulous ones, like us. It’s for real this time.
People jump up and down, run around frantically crying. “The people have already toppled the regime” and “Walk with your head held high” break out in unison. The sky is peppered with fireworks. A friend’s father makes his way to us and tells us that we should get going, that things will get out of hand. I ain’t going nowhere, no sir. Bodies come together and move. Cell phones ringing like crazy. Friends calling “congrats, you did it” including those who tried day in, day out, to talk us into seeing how wrong it was what we were doing. I see an older friend and his wife, we don’t say anything to each other. We hug, laughing.
My mom calls and tells me “You can come home now, you can come home now dear”.