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And the Winner is… | Wil Ya Wil

And the Winner is…

[This is a syndicated post from the blog: Dear Seif.]

Dear Seif,

I’m not really sure what to write, but this day is another historic moment, so I should document it somehow… Today, we found out who our next president is – a president who is elected for a change; for the first time.

From my previous post, you know that both Shafik and Morsy were catastrophic presidential options to choose from, in my opinion.  From that day until now, strange things have happened in a row.

My friends on Facebook started a War of Words, hurling insults at Shafik supporters, or Morsy supporters, or insulting those who chose to abstain from voting. I always thought that my network of friends understood the meaning behind democracy, but we are still taking baby steps. Tolerance of opposing views is something that we have to work very hard on.

Parliament has been disbanded by SCAF based on some technicality.  I was at my school, camping at the stadium with 130 students at that time.  Many parents were worried about their children’s safety; many supervising staff were saying silent prayers as there was unrest all around the country.  Thank God the unrest did not reach us and students were delivered safely to their parents the following day.

Then came voting day. Voting between Oh My God Part I and Oh My God Part II. I walked in the voting station and found my body doing things despite myself: I was clearly scowling, I kept exhaling in frustration, I was shaking my head “no” and I found my nose curling upwards. I had no control whatsoever over all of this. I stared at the voting ballot with two faces I could never relate to staring at me with smiles. And then I did what I did. Sorry to be vague, Seifo, but I can’t write which way I went. I either voted for Shafik, or Morsy, or nullified my vote. The fact that I can’t reveal what I did is sad and it shows you how people are so unforgiving of any of the 3 options.

Then Morsy declared he won based on preliminary results. So did Shafik. Both camps were celebrating. To me, it felt like a big fat joke. An embarrassing joke. Intolerance continued to rise amongst the nearest and dearest of people around me. I was being attacked for my decision, even though I always keep a low profile when it comes to politics.

And today, I switched on the TV nonchalantly to witness who will be dubbed the next president. This should have been a happy moment – a goosebump moment. Instead, I am indifferent. The announcement dragged on and on and on – facebook lit up with jokes about the prolonged speech. I wish we could just make announcements that went like this, “Hello. And the winner is… Morsy.”

You were going crazy, as I deprived you from watching your beloved cartoons. You got a yo-yo from your room and tried to hypnotize me with it, commanding me to switch the channel.  When I shooed you and your yo-yo away with the back of my hand, you began to chant, “El sha3b yoreed el cartoon channel!” Lara joined you as well. That didn’t work either by the way.

Well, the winner is Morsy. In fact, he’s making his first speech as president as I type. I listened to about 5 sentences before deciding to write to you. Your dad listened eagerly at the beginning, then dosed off with his mouth open on the bean bag next to me.

And that’s it. That’s the historical moment documented for you.

I pray that Morsy will be able to lead us (as much as he can with SCAF holding so much power) in a positive way. He certainly doesn’t represent me, but then again, I’m not representative of the majority in my country. I hope that the majority who have so much missing in their lives, whether it be lack of education, jobs, opportunities, etc., finally get to be heard and get to be acknowledged. If Morsy can achieve that, then I would be happy.

Time will tell.

Love you,

Your unexcited mother, Rania


About author
I am an Egyptian mother of two children, in the midst of both inspiring and scary times in Cairo, Egypt. I teach Language Arts to amazing High School students, and I’ve assigned them to keep a journal/scrapbook of the revolution taking place in our country. I’ve written a diary entry – a letter to my 7 year-old son – and I’ve posted it on my facebook page. I received feedback from my students as well as my foreign friends abroad. My friends told me that the letter served to give them a more personal side to what is seen in the news; something raw and relatable. That is why I decided to post it publicly here. It gives you a slice of life. What happened with my family is happening to many other families, too. Some have not been so fortunate to have a loved one return. They will not be forgotten.

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