NOVEMBER 11, 2014
Cairo doesn’t have any traffic lights. Well, it really does, but the streets are regulated by the sheer volume of vehicles chugging through its lanes, all trying to get somewhere while getting nowhere. This is how you know you are in an Arab country: you are either stuck in a revolution or in traffic. Egypt has the distinction of having both.
On November 11, stalled in that same notorious traffic, I was dead silent. I kept refreshing my Twitter feed, noting that the news of the verdict against me had yet to break.
Abbas, my friend who was accompanying me, asked if I was doing okay. I mumbled that I was fine.
As the chaos of the streets reeled around me, I looked outside the window and saw an old billboard with my face on it. Not many months ago this face was on almost every billboard in every main street in Cairo—the face of the most popular show in Egypt and the Arab world.
Tarek, my friend in Dubai, kept calling Abbas’s phone to get updates on our status.
“We haven’t arrived at the airport yet,” Abbas answered. “Yes, Emirates airlines’ flight is on time. Will tell you when we pass the customs check.”
Tarek had escaped Egypt a year before me. Never did I think I would be following in his footsteps and running from the same country that voted me the “most popular media personality” three years in a row. What’s a popularity contest worth if it doesn’t offer immunity from political exile?
“Do you think they’ll let me travel?” I asked Abbas in a low voice so the driver wouldn’t hear. “Or do you think they’ve already put me on a no-fly list?”
“Don’t worry, everything will be fine,” he said.
Both of us knew these were just empty words to comfort me. Many of the other journalists and activists in Egypt had already been banned from traveling. The question was, whose time was next?
We finally arrived at the airport, and I unloaded my two bags on the street. It was all I could hastily pack in ninety minutes. I looked at the airport building, then back to Cairo’s skyline. I wondered if this would be the last time I set eyes on it.
How did it come to this? Why did I have to flee, while tyrants and thieves got to stay? I didn’t steal, didn’t abuse my powers, and certainly didn’t hurt anyone. All I did was tell jokes.
I wheeled my bags through the terminal and then peeked at my boarding ticket.
Destination: Dubai.
Destiny: Unknown.