African imperialism: creative historians
Everything Changes
By: Chris Niles
The cool January weather was as it had always been in Cairo, warm and mostly dry, quite the opposite from his home in southern England. Alan was sitting in the five year old chair that was set up in the corner of his hotel room as if it were guarding something of significant value behind it. He looked up and out the window to see the pitter patter of light rain drops thumping against the window pane. Dismissing the fact that rain in January was a rare thing to see, he stood up to heat more water so he could continue to sip tea throughout the day. As Alan stood, he rested the newspaper on the tattered white chair and looked out the window in hopes of seeing something...anything. Anything that would give him the motivation to do something useful like he had before her death. Even the thought of her and what she did made him get the sensation of being shot, as if the world around him was going out of focus, Letting out an expanding sigh of grief, he made his way to the small, stained kitchen of his hotel room. There he filled up the kettle with water and waited. He lifted his bony white hand up to his face, sobbing now, Alan rose his head again to look at the door, there he saw his shoes that looked as though they had not been used in a long long time. He wondered how long those white and black leather shoes would continue to go unused.
His thought was broken by the ear shattering wail of the kettle rocking back and forth on the stove top. He wondered how his life had taken this turn for the worst. He used to be the top in his philosophy class at Cambridge, when he was stable, before he had started to think of all the things that made up his existence. He came to realize that he had been shut in this dreary old room for nearly a week now, just reading the same newspaper over and over again until the boredom made him sleep. This was no way to spend his two week holiday to beautiful Egypt. Alan walked towards his shoes that had been waiting for the company of his feet for some time now, and put them on, gently slipping his bare feet into the cold leather shoe. His short blond hair had not been properly washed in days and he had not changed his sunflower yellow shirt for nearly two weeks. His faded blue jeans fit snug around his waist, as if they had been molded for his body specially. He opened the door and walked down the hallway to the exit to the world. Just as he left the building, he heard the muffled sound of his heavy room door closing automatically behind him.
Under the awning, he looked out over the gray street to see what had changed since his last visit outdoors. Nothing had shifted save for a few new pieces of graffiti art tucked away under ledges of the tattered and poorly kept buildings. He had forgotten what a stunning place Egypt was, always changing but never going anywhere.
As he continued to look over the vast skyline of Cairo, he imagined he could see the massive pyramids through the jungle of the city.
The pitter patter of gentle rainfall was still audible over the sounds of traffic in the distance, almost as if the rain was demanding to be heard over anything that was normally louder. The odd sound of the rain made him wonder, why had he gone to Egypt of all places? Surly the Caribbean or florida would have been more relaxing than the bustling city of Cairo.
Walking down the road to Tahrir Square, Alan noticed more and more people going about their daily lives, although he thought everyone he saw was in a slightly more frantic mood, as if something big were going to happen.
“It’s happening! It’s really happening! You sir!” said the oddly enthusiastic and balding man as he plowed like a bull past Alan, “You must be here tomorrow! Tomorrow is a special day!”
1“What are you going on about, man?”
“Everything is going to change my friend, everything!” And with that, the strange balding man sprinted off into the crowds of people .What could it be? Alan wondered. Tomorrow was the 25th of January, nothing special about that, just another day. He thought back to the newspaper he had been reading for a week straight; he tried to remember the date that was printed in neat little letters on the top of the front page. Remembering now, Alan saw in his mind the big fanciful letters that read ‘The New York Times’ and under those words, he saw the date: January 11th, 2011. Alan was very confused when he remembered this, he had only thought that a week or so had passed, but not two! Not paying attention to what was going on around him, Alan ran right into a newsstand, knocking it over and spreading the magazines and newspapers all over the sidewalk along with him. Just before is face smashed into the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of the strange man circling back towards him. He must have heard all the noise Alan had made, causing the owner of the newsstand to yell in a fit of short lived anger.
“Sir! Sir! Are you okay sir?”
A blurry man was hovering over him and saying something. Alan attempted to muster the strength to stand up but he was weak and wobbly. He felt the grasp of a strong hand grab his arm in hopes of supporting his feeble body. Looking up again, he saw the face of the man who had nearly knocked him into the road.
“What is your name, man?” Alan asked
“Chenzira, sadiqi. And what is yours?” Said the balding man with a heavy accent
“Name’s Alan, help me up?”
Chenzira held Alan’s arm even tighter as he hefted Alan off the walk and back into a standing position. Chenzira looked deeply into Alan’s eyes while he was brushing himself off, not that it did much good.
Cautiously letting go of Alan’s arm, he muttered one word; “Follow”.
Alan was baffled by the oddness of this man.
Were all Egyptians like this? He wondered. Alan had not had many conversations with the folk native to Egypt. Stumbling along the sidewalk in an attempt to follow Chenzira, he saw things he had tried to erase from his mind. He blinked in attempt to clear his head from the torturous memories.
He was in her dorm room. All he could see were her feet dangling from the ceiling and a pool of deep maroon red blood on the floor under her body. Her wrists showed that she had tried, but it was taking too long for the liquid to evacuate her body. An attempted suicide that failed, so she tried again. And succeeded.
Never in Alan’s worst nightmare had he seen something that destroyed his heart so much. He saw the flowers and ring he was carrying fall to the ground. It felt as if everything he had ever lived for was gone. It felt as though he had been ripped apart by a cannon shot. All the good memories and happy moments Alan had ever had were gone, replaced by the image of the one person who had ever meant anything to him, strung up like a slaughtered animal. The sight of this made Alan sick, he bent over and heaved. He heaved and heaved and heaved until his stomach was emptied on the floor. The pain he felt in that moment was so much, so unbearable, that it was a miracle he didn’t die. The feeling of a thousand knives all digging into his chest at once, the heaviness and weight of his stomach, and the darkness his thoughts provided him with were all too much to handle. Alan swayed back and forth like a lone ship on the open seas about to sink to the bottom of the deep blue. His balance was all but obliterated and his sense of direction was absent. He had nowhere to turn to except himself.
All the times they got take out Chinese food and watched a movie during a cold winter night, all the times they took a walk in the park nearby, watching the children and dogs play in a simple harmony with one and another. He remembered back to the time he first saw her, sitting all alone in the lecture hall that his philosophy class was in. Alan remembered that she was early, really early.
Alan had said,“What are you doing here so early?”
Her shoulder length brown hair moved as her head tilted up ward,
“I missed class yesterday, so I thought I’d come in and get the notes before the professor erases them today.”
“It seems you and I both came here for the same reason then,” Alan said with a slight smile, “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, it’ll be good to discuss these notes. I’m Lynn by the way.” She extended her hand for a proper greeting.
Taking her hand in his, Alan said, “Alexander, but everyone just calls me Alan. So... where do we begin?”
“Lynn...”
The sound of that word echoed throughout his head, slowly becoming louder and louder until it was the voice of an angel screaming.
Coming back to reality, Alan was in a place unfamiliar to him. The ceiling was a grey tinted white with an old, dusty fan hanging from it and spinning madly. The walls of this place were white as well, although a purer white, like they had been painted recently. He was laying on a couch that had obviously been well used, the cushions smelled of dust and stale air. Looking at the thin blanket that covered his body, Alan saw that he had sweat through it. The beautiful blue, patterned cloth now had a wet, human shaped dark spot on it. In the distance, he heard the sounds of a girl, maybe in her late teens, speaking Arabic. Not knowing the language for himself, Alan didn’t know what was being said. He looked up to the door of the little room to see, Chenzira, standing under the frame of the door and staring intently at Alan.
“So you finally woke up; you had quite an episode back at the square; I almost took you to the hospital.”
Alan tried to speak; the voice that come from his lips was not his own; it sounded like a whisper from the wind in an old, creepy forest.
“Where am I?”
Chenzira calmly said, “You are in my home, Alan. Welcome,” in his heavily accented but fluent English.
Alan tried to stand up from his prone position on the couch. He stumbled and toppled back onto the cushions.
“Here, let me help you up. Take my hand and pull.” Chenzira said while extending his hand forward towards Alan.
With a look of sorrow , Alan looked down towards the floor and said in a voice that had no life, “Sorry, mate. I’ll not give you the misfortune of doing that.”
As these words were spoken, Alan slowly stood from the couch, eventually standing eye to eye with Chenzira. His speckled brown eyes met perfectly with Alan’s steely dead blue ones.
“Right then, follow me, let’s go for a walk. That always helps one clear the head,” said Chenzira, motioning his hand for Alan to follow.
Alan agreed, “Lead the way.”
The two walked out the door of the small apartment and down the stairs, exiting onto the bustling street outside. They walked in silence for a while; this was good for Alan, because he had not seen the beautiful city of Cairo as much as he aught to. Looking at every building and car with immense curiosity, he explored the idea of even living here, in the arid climate surrounded by strangely comforting noise. Eventually he was brought out of his head by the sound of a car horn in the distance.
“When I was waking up, I heard the voice of a girl right before you came in. Who was she?”
“Her name is, Amisi, my daughter. Brilliant young girl,” Chenzira replied, “It has been her and I now for some time, just trying to make our way in this world.”
“Ah, it seems you would be a good father,” Alan said with a grin that quickly turned to a face of contemplation and concern, “But where is her mother?”
Chenzira stopped abruptly in the center of the sidewalk. He seemed to have lost his connection with the rest of the world for a brief moment. Turning his head at the speed of a hundred year old tortoise to look at Alan, the grooves and wrinkles on his face seemed much deeper and darker, “Yes, she is my flower, my pride. I love nothing more than my daughter, and that is not likely to change. Sadly, she will never know the face or voice of her mother. She’s gone now, hit by a mad man driving a truck only a year after Amisi’s birth.” The threatening lines on his face quickly went back to the cheery and fulfilled way they had been before Alan asked his question. “No need to dwell on the sad things in life when there is so much happening every moment though! Come now, Alan, I would like to walk with you some more.”
Alan and Chenzira walked for hours all around Cairo, taking in its atmosphere, its emotions, and its people. While they were walking, the two talked and talked. Alan did not mention Lynn out of sheer fright that he would collapse at the memory of her. When asked why he chose Egypt, Alan simply responded with, “I came to Egypt in the hopes of finding something to get me going. I was raised a wealthy child so for most of my life I had an ignorance that I am still trying to abandon. It took me a long time to realize who I was, or, who I thought I was at least. After I discovered that I didn’t have a clue who I was, I got the sensation that my existence was nothing to be proud of, nothing to praise or want, and certainly nothing that would bring any benefits to the world.” His voice drifted down when he said this, like a plane engine getting slower until it stops.
“Sometimes, Alan, not knowing who you are can be the best thing that has ever happened to you. We all know who we are, on the outside at least, but most live their entire lives not knowing what is on the inside, what drives them and keeps them going. For me, I was raised in a wealthy family too, in Alexandria. I had always dreamed of exploring the world and seeing all there was to see. After I graduated from Alexandria University, I suddenly had no idea what I was going to do next. My entire life I thought I was going to finish schooling and then move on to be a successful man because I had always thought that was the path to happiness. I can tell you now that I could have never been more wrong in my entire life. If you look at me now, you may just see a balding man in his forties, or you may see a man who, even though he has had some horrible experiences, is still happy and extremely successful. My point is, Alan, even though the world may throw horrific things in your face, it’s up to you how you decide what effects and dictates your life,”
Alan and Chenzira stopped walking just as they reached the door to Alan’s hotel.
“Goodbye, Alan. I hope I am fortunate enough to meet you again.”
“You too, mate.”
And with that, Alan made his way to his room, kicked off his leather shoes, took a shower and flopped down on his bead. Alan slept for nearly twenty hours that night, waking up to the sound of many, many people, all mobbing together in the street and making their way to Tahrir Square.
Alan Stepped outside to see the early afternoon sun watching over Cairo; Alan saw several plumes of smoke rising from the horizon suggesting that something big was going on. He began to walk aimlessly in the urban maze.
The shouts and chants of people sounded as if they were growing closer and closer. Alan walked for a few more minutes and decided to lean against a building to help him regain his breath.
Alan woke up slumped on the ground by the building hours later. By this time, they sky had gone dark, the only light that existed was the orange glow of street lamps standing tall on the sides of the road. As Alan neared the square, he started to think he should turn back before things took a turn for the worst so he could find a way home.
Suddenly the road opened up to reveal the square, fully illuminated and basking in the light of street lamps, flashlights, and vehicles. Alan bumped into a man that had a familiar scent. Alan looked up to see the wispy black hair and a mostly bald head that belonged to only one man he knew.
“Hello, Alan! Help me carry this man to safety!” said a voice in the crowd of people.
Alan looked down to see a man sprawled out on the ground. His eyes were shut tightly, and he was grasping something in his hand so hard, his knuckled were white. His white shirt was stained with two large blotches of crimson blood.
Grabbing his left arm, he heaved him up until the man was standing, just able to move his blood drained muscles in attempt to stay alive. Alan and the familiar voice dragged the man to a building that had been vacated only a block away. Upon arrival, a small group of people emerged from the dark corners and immediately began working to save the life of that poor man. Releasing the mans wounded arm, Alan saw that his own arm was coated in a thin but noticeable layer of blood. Someone else’s blood. Thoughts of the day Lynn died raced through his head.
“Alan, stop just standing there!” bellowed the same familiar voice, “There are still other wounded people out there that need our help! Listen to me, please please listen to me. My country is growing up right now, and it needs all the help it can get. I cannot do this alone, Alan. I need your help more than ever right now. I know this is all so much to take in but stay with me. Please, stay with me.”
With a slight nod and a grunt, Alan brought himself to stand up again. Still shaking from the shock of what had happened that night, Alan looked out the window to see the orange glow reflect off the smoke. He heard the sounds of engines and gunshots and the wails of people fighting for something they believed in. Something that was worth risking their lives for. Something inspiring. That realization was all Alan needed to feel like he finally belonged somewhere. He climbed his way out the broken window they came in and started to head for the square with Chenzira following closely behind.
“Alan, wait! Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not in the least, mate!” He said with a wicked grin spreading from cheek to cheek.
Alan and Chenzira made their way into the center of the madness, searching for anyone who needed medical assistance. A tear gas canister went off just in front of their feet. The sudden burst of disorienting gas went directly into both their faces, causing them to fall to the ground in a fit of violent coughing.
“Fu-” Alan started to speak his curse when the whiz and thud of something traveling impossibly fast interrupted him. Another whiz and thud and another, all within a second, kept Alan on the ground.
“Alan! Alan, get up! Get up!”
“Gah! I can’t move my arm!”
“Stay there, Alan. I will be back soon!”
Alan was confused as to what was going on. He lay there motionless, acting dead in attempt to not get shot again. The pain he felt was nearly unbearable, the burning sensation coursed through his veins, slowly dulling as adrenalin took hold of his body.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw Chenzira rapidly running up towards him, holding something in his hand.
“What are you holding?” Alan asked with a sharp breath
“It’s just some bandage cloth, come here, let me help you.”
Alan felt Chenzira’s hands run the course of his body, trying to find where he had been hit. Suddenly a sharp pain erupted from his left shoulder.
“Try your best to keep still while I do this.”
The pain became more and more intense as Chenzira wrapped Alan’s shoulder. The bandage was finally cut and tied tight, dulling the piercing sensation. This process was repeated on Alan’s right leg and hand.
“Can you stand and lean on me?”
Alan nodded and rolled to his side, pushing up with his left arm. Chenzira locked arms with Alan and pulled up, bringing him up to a standing position. Alan could barely stand, but with the help of his friend, they began walking towards the building they had brought the bleeding man to. Using the remaining tear gas in the air as cover, the two made their way out of of the square ever so slowly. About half way through, Alan was too tired to continue walking with Chenzira and fell to the ground. They looked at each other and used their eyes to communicate. Chenzira hefted Alan up and carried him the rest of the way to the makeshift medical building. The last thing that Alan remembered seeing before he went unconscious were the few people rushing from the corner of the dark room that had helped the man he and Chenzira had brought.
Alan was laying on a couch that had obviously been well used, the cushions smelled of dust and stale air. Looking at the thin blanket that covered his body, Alan saw that he had sweat through it. The beautiful blue, patterned cloth now had a wet, human shaped dark spot on it. The voice of Amisi rang through his head as her figure disappeared through the door frame and her father entered the room.
“Nice to see you with the living.”
“You can say that again, this is the second time you’ve taken me in, what’s the cost of your hospitality?”
“Inta ghaleh wa talabak rkhees. All I ask is you care for me if such a fate were to fall unto me.”
“Your request is a logical one, I will do my best. How long have I been out?”
“A few days, Mubarak stepped down and the people are in high spirits. Things seem to be coming together.”
“Ah, that’s good, say, would you mind accompanying me while I do something?”
“Not at all.”
A few days later, Chenzira checked Alan into the nearest hospital to get the bullets removed and the wounds washed. He was weak for a long time, while his shredded muscles regrew, Alan thought about what he would do with Lynn. Her body was still in a morgue, waiting to be buried or burned.
After a week in the hospital, Alan made way for his hotel room to get his things and head back to England. When he got to the room, the first thing he did was pull out the old chair in the corner and retrieve the journal he had been hiding behind it. In this journal, he kept the ring and a flower from the day Lynn had died, even an excerpt from a newspaper published on the day of her death, January 11th, 2011.
Half an hour later, a knock at the door rang through the small room. Opening the door, Chenzira wandered in to help Alan pack for his flight the next day.
“Is this all you brought to Egypt? It’s not much.”
“This is all I thought I would need, mate.” Said Alan with a smirk, “I’m glad you’re coming with me to England for the funeral.”
“I think it would do us both some good, besides, you could use all the help you can get.”
The january air was chilling in England, Alan and Chenzira stood outside in a small, rural graveyard.
“We beseech Thee, O Lord,
in Thy mercy,
to have pity on the soul of Thy handmaid;
do Thou, Who hast freed her
from the perils of this mortal life,
restore to her the portion of everlasting salvation.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.” Said the priest leading the small and unnoticeable funeral
A little dramatic, Alan thought, but Lynn came from a catholic family and she herself held the idea with an interest, so he decided to honor that.
Her coffin was a beautiful, polished dark oak casket with ornate gold engravings covering the sides and top. Alan laid the flattened flower on top of the lid and held the ring in his hand, saying his last goodbye to the first person to make him feel alive. He said his blessings and prayers as he watched her get lowered into the cold ground with a single tear rolling down his numb cheeks and freezing on the ground.
Chenzira and Alan walked out the wrought iron gates of the small cemetery and made their way to a dark sedan parked on the side of the road. Alan took her ring and fed a silver chain through it and put it over his head so that the cold golden ring could rest calmly on his chest forever, keeping him with her until his days had ran out.
Alan drove Chenzira and himself to a hotel not too far away from where the funeral was held. They slept calmly that night and in the morning, Alan drove Chenzira to the airport so he could return to his country.
“Goodbye, mate, I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in this time of my life.”
“Come now, Alan, don’t be sad! Be happy instead, she is at rest and you seem to be in a stable state and ready to start your life again.” Chenzira said with a slight smile at patted Alan’s shoulder, “Goodbye, Alan, come visit me sometime, yes?”
“Of course! Expect me to show up, sleeping on your sofa one morning.” He said with gratitude.
Chenzira boarded his plane and flew back to Cairo so he could begin to organize his life back home. Alan had done the same thing, he stayed in the hotel for another week, then went back to Cambridge to begin his studies again and start his life as a different person that the one who had walked out of the school less than a month before.
By: Chris Niles
The cool January weather was as it had always been in Cairo, warm and mostly dry, quite the opposite from his home in southern England. Alan was sitting in the five year old chair that was set up in the corner of his hotel room as if it were guarding something of significant value behind it. He looked up and out the window to see the pitter patter of light rain drops thumping against the window pane. Dismissing the fact that rain in January was a rare thing to see, he stood up to heat more water so he could continue to sip tea throughout the day. As Alan stood, he rested the newspaper on the tattered white chair and looked out the window in hopes of seeing something...anything. Anything that would give him the motivation to do something useful like he had before her death. Even the thought of her and what she did made him get the sensation of being shot, as if the world around him was going out of focus, Letting out an expanding sigh of grief, he made his way to the small, stained kitchen of his hotel room. There he filled up the kettle with water and waited. He lifted his bony white hand up to his face, sobbing now, Alan rose his head again to look at the door, there he saw his shoes that looked as though they had not been used in a long long time. He wondered how long those white and black leather shoes would continue to go unused.
His thought was broken by the ear shattering wail of the kettle rocking back and forth on the stove top. He wondered how his life had taken this turn for the worst. He used to be the top in his philosophy class at Cambridge, when he was stable, before he had started to think of all the things that made up his existence. He came to realize that he had been shut in this dreary old room for nearly a week now, just reading the same newspaper over and over again until the boredom made him sleep. This was no way to spend his two week holiday to beautiful Egypt. Alan walked towards his shoes that had been waiting for the company of his feet for some time now, and put them on, gently slipping his bare feet into the cold leather shoe. His short blond hair had not been properly washed in days and he had not changed his sunflower yellow shirt for nearly two weeks. His faded blue jeans fit snug around his waist, as if they had been molded for his body specially. He opened the door and walked down the hallway to the exit to the world. Just as he left the building, he heard the muffled sound of his heavy room door closing automatically behind him.
Under the awning, he looked out over the gray street to see what had changed since his last visit outdoors. Nothing had shifted save for a few new pieces of graffiti art tucked away under ledges of the tattered and poorly kept buildings. He had forgotten what a stunning place Egypt was, always changing but never going anywhere.
As he continued to look over the vast skyline of Cairo, he imagined he could see the massive pyramids through the jungle of the city.
The pitter patter of gentle rainfall was still audible over the sounds of traffic in the distance, almost as if the rain was demanding to be heard over anything that was normally louder. The odd sound of the rain made him wonder, why had he gone to Egypt of all places? Surly the Caribbean or florida would have been more relaxing than the bustling city of Cairo.
Walking down the road to Tahrir Square, Alan noticed more and more people going about their daily lives, although he thought everyone he saw was in a slightly more frantic mood, as if something big were going to happen.
“It’s happening! It’s really happening! You sir!” said the oddly enthusiastic and balding man as he plowed like a bull past Alan, “You must be here tomorrow! Tomorrow is a special day!”
1“What are you going on about, man?”
“Everything is going to change my friend, everything!” And with that, the strange balding man sprinted off into the crowds of people .What could it be? Alan wondered. Tomorrow was the 25th of January, nothing special about that, just another day. He thought back to the newspaper he had been reading for a week straight; he tried to remember the date that was printed in neat little letters on the top of the front page. Remembering now, Alan saw in his mind the big fanciful letters that read ‘The New York Times’ and under those words, he saw the date: January 11th, 2011. Alan was very confused when he remembered this, he had only thought that a week or so had passed, but not two! Not paying attention to what was going on around him, Alan ran right into a newsstand, knocking it over and spreading the magazines and newspapers all over the sidewalk along with him. Just before is face smashed into the sidewalk, he caught a glimpse of the strange man circling back towards him. He must have heard all the noise Alan had made, causing the owner of the newsstand to yell in a fit of short lived anger.
“Sir! Sir! Are you okay sir?”
A blurry man was hovering over him and saying something. Alan attempted to muster the strength to stand up but he was weak and wobbly. He felt the grasp of a strong hand grab his arm in hopes of supporting his feeble body. Looking up again, he saw the face of the man who had nearly knocked him into the road.
“What is your name, man?” Alan asked
“Chenzira, sadiqi. And what is yours?” Said the balding man with a heavy accent
“Name’s Alan, help me up?”
Chenzira held Alan’s arm even tighter as he hefted Alan off the walk and back into a standing position. Chenzira looked deeply into Alan’s eyes while he was brushing himself off, not that it did much good.
Cautiously letting go of Alan’s arm, he muttered one word; “Follow”.
Alan was baffled by the oddness of this man.
Were all Egyptians like this? He wondered. Alan had not had many conversations with the folk native to Egypt. Stumbling along the sidewalk in an attempt to follow Chenzira, he saw things he had tried to erase from his mind. He blinked in attempt to clear his head from the torturous memories.
He was in her dorm room. All he could see were her feet dangling from the ceiling and a pool of deep maroon red blood on the floor under her body. Her wrists showed that she had tried, but it was taking too long for the liquid to evacuate her body. An attempted suicide that failed, so she tried again. And succeeded.
Never in Alan’s worst nightmare had he seen something that destroyed his heart so much. He saw the flowers and ring he was carrying fall to the ground. It felt as if everything he had ever lived for was gone. It felt as though he had been ripped apart by a cannon shot. All the good memories and happy moments Alan had ever had were gone, replaced by the image of the one person who had ever meant anything to him, strung up like a slaughtered animal. The sight of this made Alan sick, he bent over and heaved. He heaved and heaved and heaved until his stomach was emptied on the floor. The pain he felt in that moment was so much, so unbearable, that it was a miracle he didn’t die. The feeling of a thousand knives all digging into his chest at once, the heaviness and weight of his stomach, and the darkness his thoughts provided him with were all too much to handle. Alan swayed back and forth like a lone ship on the open seas about to sink to the bottom of the deep blue. His balance was all but obliterated and his sense of direction was absent. He had nowhere to turn to except himself.
All the times they got take out Chinese food and watched a movie during a cold winter night, all the times they took a walk in the park nearby, watching the children and dogs play in a simple harmony with one and another. He remembered back to the time he first saw her, sitting all alone in the lecture hall that his philosophy class was in. Alan remembered that she was early, really early.
Alan had said,“What are you doing here so early?”
Her shoulder length brown hair moved as her head tilted up ward,
“I missed class yesterday, so I thought I’d come in and get the notes before the professor erases them today.”
“It seems you and I both came here for the same reason then,” Alan said with a slight smile, “Mind if I join you?”
“Of course not, it’ll be good to discuss these notes. I’m Lynn by the way.” She extended her hand for a proper greeting.
Taking her hand in his, Alan said, “Alexander, but everyone just calls me Alan. So... where do we begin?”
“Lynn...”
The sound of that word echoed throughout his head, slowly becoming louder and louder until it was the voice of an angel screaming.
Coming back to reality, Alan was in a place unfamiliar to him. The ceiling was a grey tinted white with an old, dusty fan hanging from it and spinning madly. The walls of this place were white as well, although a purer white, like they had been painted recently. He was laying on a couch that had obviously been well used, the cushions smelled of dust and stale air. Looking at the thin blanket that covered his body, Alan saw that he had sweat through it. The beautiful blue, patterned cloth now had a wet, human shaped dark spot on it. In the distance, he heard the sounds of a girl, maybe in her late teens, speaking Arabic. Not knowing the language for himself, Alan didn’t know what was being said. He looked up to the door of the little room to see, Chenzira, standing under the frame of the door and staring intently at Alan.
“So you finally woke up; you had quite an episode back at the square; I almost took you to the hospital.”
Alan tried to speak; the voice that come from his lips was not his own; it sounded like a whisper from the wind in an old, creepy forest.
“Where am I?”
Chenzira calmly said, “You are in my home, Alan. Welcome,” in his heavily accented but fluent English.
Alan tried to stand up from his prone position on the couch. He stumbled and toppled back onto the cushions.
“Here, let me help you up. Take my hand and pull.” Chenzira said while extending his hand forward towards Alan.
With a look of sorrow , Alan looked down towards the floor and said in a voice that had no life, “Sorry, mate. I’ll not give you the misfortune of doing that.”
As these words were spoken, Alan slowly stood from the couch, eventually standing eye to eye with Chenzira. His speckled brown eyes met perfectly with Alan’s steely dead blue ones.
“Right then, follow me, let’s go for a walk. That always helps one clear the head,” said Chenzira, motioning his hand for Alan to follow.
Alan agreed, “Lead the way.”
The two walked out the door of the small apartment and down the stairs, exiting onto the bustling street outside. They walked in silence for a while; this was good for Alan, because he had not seen the beautiful city of Cairo as much as he aught to. Looking at every building and car with immense curiosity, he explored the idea of even living here, in the arid climate surrounded by strangely comforting noise. Eventually he was brought out of his head by the sound of a car horn in the distance.
“When I was waking up, I heard the voice of a girl right before you came in. Who was she?”
“Her name is, Amisi, my daughter. Brilliant young girl,” Chenzira replied, “It has been her and I now for some time, just trying to make our way in this world.”
“Ah, it seems you would be a good father,” Alan said with a grin that quickly turned to a face of contemplation and concern, “But where is her mother?”
Chenzira stopped abruptly in the center of the sidewalk. He seemed to have lost his connection with the rest of the world for a brief moment. Turning his head at the speed of a hundred year old tortoise to look at Alan, the grooves and wrinkles on his face seemed much deeper and darker, “Yes, she is my flower, my pride. I love nothing more than my daughter, and that is not likely to change. Sadly, she will never know the face or voice of her mother. She’s gone now, hit by a mad man driving a truck only a year after Amisi’s birth.” The threatening lines on his face quickly went back to the cheery and fulfilled way they had been before Alan asked his question. “No need to dwell on the sad things in life when there is so much happening every moment though! Come now, Alan, I would like to walk with you some more.”
Alan and Chenzira walked for hours all around Cairo, taking in its atmosphere, its emotions, and its people. While they were walking, the two talked and talked. Alan did not mention Lynn out of sheer fright that he would collapse at the memory of her. When asked why he chose Egypt, Alan simply responded with, “I came to Egypt in the hopes of finding something to get me going. I was raised a wealthy child so for most of my life I had an ignorance that I am still trying to abandon. It took me a long time to realize who I was, or, who I thought I was at least. After I discovered that I didn’t have a clue who I was, I got the sensation that my existence was nothing to be proud of, nothing to praise or want, and certainly nothing that would bring any benefits to the world.” His voice drifted down when he said this, like a plane engine getting slower until it stops.
“Sometimes, Alan, not knowing who you are can be the best thing that has ever happened to you. We all know who we are, on the outside at least, but most live their entire lives not knowing what is on the inside, what drives them and keeps them going. For me, I was raised in a wealthy family too, in Alexandria. I had always dreamed of exploring the world and seeing all there was to see. After I graduated from Alexandria University, I suddenly had no idea what I was going to do next. My entire life I thought I was going to finish schooling and then move on to be a successful man because I had always thought that was the path to happiness. I can tell you now that I could have never been more wrong in my entire life. If you look at me now, you may just see a balding man in his forties, or you may see a man who, even though he has had some horrible experiences, is still happy and extremely successful. My point is, Alan, even though the world may throw horrific things in your face, it’s up to you how you decide what effects and dictates your life,”
Alan and Chenzira stopped walking just as they reached the door to Alan’s hotel.
“Goodbye, Alan. I hope I am fortunate enough to meet you again.”
“You too, mate.”
And with that, Alan made his way to his room, kicked off his leather shoes, took a shower and flopped down on his bead. Alan slept for nearly twenty hours that night, waking up to the sound of many, many people, all mobbing together in the street and making their way to Tahrir Square.
Alan Stepped outside to see the early afternoon sun watching over Cairo; Alan saw several plumes of smoke rising from the horizon suggesting that something big was going on. He began to walk aimlessly in the urban maze.
The shouts and chants of people sounded as if they were growing closer and closer. Alan walked for a few more minutes and decided to lean against a building to help him regain his breath.
Alan woke up slumped on the ground by the building hours later. By this time, they sky had gone dark, the only light that existed was the orange glow of street lamps standing tall on the sides of the road. As Alan neared the square, he started to think he should turn back before things took a turn for the worst so he could find a way home.
Suddenly the road opened up to reveal the square, fully illuminated and basking in the light of street lamps, flashlights, and vehicles. Alan bumped into a man that had a familiar scent. Alan looked up to see the wispy black hair and a mostly bald head that belonged to only one man he knew.
“Hello, Alan! Help me carry this man to safety!” said a voice in the crowd of people.
Alan looked down to see a man sprawled out on the ground. His eyes were shut tightly, and he was grasping something in his hand so hard, his knuckled were white. His white shirt was stained with two large blotches of crimson blood.
Grabbing his left arm, he heaved him up until the man was standing, just able to move his blood drained muscles in attempt to stay alive. Alan and the familiar voice dragged the man to a building that had been vacated only a block away. Upon arrival, a small group of people emerged from the dark corners and immediately began working to save the life of that poor man. Releasing the mans wounded arm, Alan saw that his own arm was coated in a thin but noticeable layer of blood. Someone else’s blood. Thoughts of the day Lynn died raced through his head.
“Alan, stop just standing there!” bellowed the same familiar voice, “There are still other wounded people out there that need our help! Listen to me, please please listen to me. My country is growing up right now, and it needs all the help it can get. I cannot do this alone, Alan. I need your help more than ever right now. I know this is all so much to take in but stay with me. Please, stay with me.”
With a slight nod and a grunt, Alan brought himself to stand up again. Still shaking from the shock of what had happened that night, Alan looked out the window to see the orange glow reflect off the smoke. He heard the sounds of engines and gunshots and the wails of people fighting for something they believed in. Something that was worth risking their lives for. Something inspiring. That realization was all Alan needed to feel like he finally belonged somewhere. He climbed his way out the broken window they came in and started to head for the square with Chenzira following closely behind.
“Alan, wait! Do you know what you’re doing?”
“Not in the least, mate!” He said with a wicked grin spreading from cheek to cheek.
Alan and Chenzira made their way into the center of the madness, searching for anyone who needed medical assistance. A tear gas canister went off just in front of their feet. The sudden burst of disorienting gas went directly into both their faces, causing them to fall to the ground in a fit of violent coughing.
“Fu-” Alan started to speak his curse when the whiz and thud of something traveling impossibly fast interrupted him. Another whiz and thud and another, all within a second, kept Alan on the ground.
“Alan! Alan, get up! Get up!”
“Gah! I can’t move my arm!”
“Stay there, Alan. I will be back soon!”
Alan was confused as to what was going on. He lay there motionless, acting dead in attempt to not get shot again. The pain he felt was nearly unbearable, the burning sensation coursed through his veins, slowly dulling as adrenalin took hold of his body.
Looking over his shoulder, he saw Chenzira rapidly running up towards him, holding something in his hand.
“What are you holding?” Alan asked with a sharp breath
“It’s just some bandage cloth, come here, let me help you.”
Alan felt Chenzira’s hands run the course of his body, trying to find where he had been hit. Suddenly a sharp pain erupted from his left shoulder.
“Try your best to keep still while I do this.”
The pain became more and more intense as Chenzira wrapped Alan’s shoulder. The bandage was finally cut and tied tight, dulling the piercing sensation. This process was repeated on Alan’s right leg and hand.
“Can you stand and lean on me?”
Alan nodded and rolled to his side, pushing up with his left arm. Chenzira locked arms with Alan and pulled up, bringing him up to a standing position. Alan could barely stand, but with the help of his friend, they began walking towards the building they had brought the bleeding man to. Using the remaining tear gas in the air as cover, the two made their way out of of the square ever so slowly. About half way through, Alan was too tired to continue walking with Chenzira and fell to the ground. They looked at each other and used their eyes to communicate. Chenzira hefted Alan up and carried him the rest of the way to the makeshift medical building. The last thing that Alan remembered seeing before he went unconscious were the few people rushing from the corner of the dark room that had helped the man he and Chenzira had brought.
Alan was laying on a couch that had obviously been well used, the cushions smelled of dust and stale air. Looking at the thin blanket that covered his body, Alan saw that he had sweat through it. The beautiful blue, patterned cloth now had a wet, human shaped dark spot on it. The voice of Amisi rang through his head as her figure disappeared through the door frame and her father entered the room.
“Nice to see you with the living.”
“You can say that again, this is the second time you’ve taken me in, what’s the cost of your hospitality?”
“Inta ghaleh wa talabak rkhees. All I ask is you care for me if such a fate were to fall unto me.”
“Your request is a logical one, I will do my best. How long have I been out?”
“A few days, Mubarak stepped down and the people are in high spirits. Things seem to be coming together.”
“Ah, that’s good, say, would you mind accompanying me while I do something?”
“Not at all.”
A few days later, Chenzira checked Alan into the nearest hospital to get the bullets removed and the wounds washed. He was weak for a long time, while his shredded muscles regrew, Alan thought about what he would do with Lynn. Her body was still in a morgue, waiting to be buried or burned.
After a week in the hospital, Alan made way for his hotel room to get his things and head back to England. When he got to the room, the first thing he did was pull out the old chair in the corner and retrieve the journal he had been hiding behind it. In this journal, he kept the ring and a flower from the day Lynn had died, even an excerpt from a newspaper published on the day of her death, January 11th, 2011.
Half an hour later, a knock at the door rang through the small room. Opening the door, Chenzira wandered in to help Alan pack for his flight the next day.
“Is this all you brought to Egypt? It’s not much.”
“This is all I thought I would need, mate.” Said Alan with a smirk, “I’m glad you’re coming with me to England for the funeral.”
“I think it would do us both some good, besides, you could use all the help you can get.”
The january air was chilling in England, Alan and Chenzira stood outside in a small, rural graveyard.
“We beseech Thee, O Lord,
in Thy mercy,
to have pity on the soul of Thy handmaid;
do Thou, Who hast freed her
from the perils of this mortal life,
restore to her the portion of everlasting salvation.
Through Christ our Lord,
Amen.” Said the priest leading the small and unnoticeable funeral
A little dramatic, Alan thought, but Lynn came from a catholic family and she herself held the idea with an interest, so he decided to honor that.
Her coffin was a beautiful, polished dark oak casket with ornate gold engravings covering the sides and top. Alan laid the flattened flower on top of the lid and held the ring in his hand, saying his last goodbye to the first person to make him feel alive. He said his blessings and prayers as he watched her get lowered into the cold ground with a single tear rolling down his numb cheeks and freezing on the ground.
Chenzira and Alan walked out the wrought iron gates of the small cemetery and made their way to a dark sedan parked on the side of the road. Alan took her ring and fed a silver chain through it and put it over his head so that the cold golden ring could rest calmly on his chest forever, keeping him with her until his days had ran out.
Alan drove Chenzira and himself to a hotel not too far away from where the funeral was held. They slept calmly that night and in the morning, Alan drove Chenzira to the airport so he could return to his country.
“Goodbye, mate, I couldn’t have asked for a better friend in this time of my life.”
“Come now, Alan, don’t be sad! Be happy instead, she is at rest and you seem to be in a stable state and ready to start your life again.” Chenzira said with a slight smile at patted Alan’s shoulder, “Goodbye, Alan, come visit me sometime, yes?”
“Of course! Expect me to show up, sleeping on your sofa one morning.” He said with gratitude.
Chenzira boarded his plane and flew back to Cairo so he could begin to organize his life back home. Alan had done the same thing, he stayed in the hotel for another week, then went back to Cambridge to begin his studies again and start his life as a different person that the one who had walked out of the school less than a month before.
reflection
For this project, we were assigned to write a historical fiction short story that takes place in the country of your choice, as long as that country is in Africa. Now, in order to make this massive paper even worth reading, we were required to do about a months work of preparation research and exploration. In this month, we did everything from reading wikipedia pages and watching youtube videos to contacting someone who lived(s) in the country we were writing about and interviewing them. After all the prep work was finished, the task of writing the story was introduced. We had to write something that was both engaging to the reader and factually correct. As you can imagine, writing the story was not the easiest thing in the world. Before we began writing our first drafts, we read the story, The Red Convertible by: Louise Erdrich. This story was meant to act as a benchmark for us so we had an idea as to what kind of quality was to be apparent in our own stories.
Every written piece has its strengths and weaknesses when it comes to literary elements. In my story, I personally believe that foreshadowing is the most obvious literary element that my story expresses. I use foreshadowing in my story only a few times but once you realize where I put it, everything makes a little bit more sense. For example, "Alan was sitting in the five year old chair that was set up in the corner of his hotel room as if it were guarding something of significant value behind it."
At first, it may seem weird that I even mentioned the chair at all because it's just a chair but if you read the story all the way through, it will be revealed to you that the chair is actually guarding something of significance. I think that this foreshadow is important because it's meant to make the reader wonder why the chair was described that way and therefore makes them continue to read, it also gives a sub conscience hint that the chair is going to be involved in something later on.
Just as every written piece has a literary strength, it also had a literary weakness. The tone of my story could have used a little bit more refinement, in my opinion at least. Especially in the rough draft, the tone of my story shifted countless amounts of times and I think some of that carried over into my final draft. If you look close enough at my story, you will notice that the tone does shift in slightly unexpected and irrelevant ways. I tried to make the entire thing in a tone similar to that of melancholy. Doing this is especially difficult for me because when ever I think or write, my mind wanders and comes up with amazing, brilliant new ideas and naturally I try to incorporate as many of those ideas as I can without disrupting the overall product. To overcome most of my troubles with this, I quickly wrote down the ideas that came to me during the writing process of my story and put them to the side until I finished what I was currently working on. I then looked over what I had and figured out where I would be able to put in and take out ideas.
Every story will eventually go through a revision phase, some revisions may be small and others may be massive, completely changed versions of the story. Most of the revisions I did to my story were small and fairly unnoticeable but I did have a huge revision. This massive revision was the ending of my story. In the first draft of my story, the main character, Alan, ends up dying and Chenzira is left with the task of managing Alan's and Lynn's funeral. Not only is this a highly unrealistic ending considering the circumstances of the story, but it was also very weak. I realize now that killing the character off at the ending of a story is often the easy way out. Don't get me wrong, some stories pull off the death at the end beautifully but for me, not so much. This revision makes the story so much stronger by showing Alan's development and how he puts it to use in the ending. It would have made no sense to make him go through what he did and then just die.
Every written piece has its strengths and weaknesses when it comes to literary elements. In my story, I personally believe that foreshadowing is the most obvious literary element that my story expresses. I use foreshadowing in my story only a few times but once you realize where I put it, everything makes a little bit more sense. For example, "Alan was sitting in the five year old chair that was set up in the corner of his hotel room as if it were guarding something of significant value behind it."
At first, it may seem weird that I even mentioned the chair at all because it's just a chair but if you read the story all the way through, it will be revealed to you that the chair is actually guarding something of significance. I think that this foreshadow is important because it's meant to make the reader wonder why the chair was described that way and therefore makes them continue to read, it also gives a sub conscience hint that the chair is going to be involved in something later on.
Just as every written piece has a literary strength, it also had a literary weakness. The tone of my story could have used a little bit more refinement, in my opinion at least. Especially in the rough draft, the tone of my story shifted countless amounts of times and I think some of that carried over into my final draft. If you look close enough at my story, you will notice that the tone does shift in slightly unexpected and irrelevant ways. I tried to make the entire thing in a tone similar to that of melancholy. Doing this is especially difficult for me because when ever I think or write, my mind wanders and comes up with amazing, brilliant new ideas and naturally I try to incorporate as many of those ideas as I can without disrupting the overall product. To overcome most of my troubles with this, I quickly wrote down the ideas that came to me during the writing process of my story and put them to the side until I finished what I was currently working on. I then looked over what I had and figured out where I would be able to put in and take out ideas.
Every story will eventually go through a revision phase, some revisions may be small and others may be massive, completely changed versions of the story. Most of the revisions I did to my story were small and fairly unnoticeable but I did have a huge revision. This massive revision was the ending of my story. In the first draft of my story, the main character, Alan, ends up dying and Chenzira is left with the task of managing Alan's and Lynn's funeral. Not only is this a highly unrealistic ending considering the circumstances of the story, but it was also very weak. I realize now that killing the character off at the ending of a story is often the easy way out. Don't get me wrong, some stories pull off the death at the end beautifully but for me, not so much. This revision makes the story so much stronger by showing Alan's development and how he puts it to use in the ending. It would have made no sense to make him go through what he did and then just die.