Protest: About 4 000 people from about 80 countries met in Cairo and had planned to walk 45km from el-Arish in Egypt’s North Sanai Governorate to Rafah on the southern border of the Gaza Strip. But they were stopped before even reaching the border. Photo: Jimi Matthews
The day started with fear and uncertainty. We had arrived in Cairo two days before amid rumours of detentions, assaults, and deportations. A former colleague of mine had warned, “Watch your back, the authorities are hectic.”
I was in Egypt to join the Global March on Gaza scheduled for Friday 13 June. About 4 000 activists from more than 80 countries had responded to the call to go to the border of Egypt and Gaza, set up a camp and demand the opening of humanitarian corridors into Gaza and an end to the siege.
The idea was to meet in Cairo, board a convoy of buses and to travel to the town of el-Arish in the Sinai Peninsula. Carrying rucksacks, sleeping bags and tents, the participants would then march 45 kilometres on foot to the Rafah border.
Arriving in Cairo as tourists, we would be informed where the pick-up points for the buses would be. We had also been informed that the Egyptian authorities had been approached for permission to proceed to el-Arish. Even before leaving South Africa, we had heard that people were being turned back at the airport in Cairo or that some who had cleared customs were being rounded up and deported.
The atmosphere was reminiscent of those old spy movies set in the Eastern Bloc. “Be careful who you speak to, try not to attract any attention, don’t venture out on your own, beware, even the walls have ears.”
Stories of the notoriety of Egyptian prison conditions and the “disappearance” of people were rife. There were also stories of people who had been attacked by locals opposed to our presence. And above all, that the march would not be allowed.
And so we spent Thursday night huddled in our hotels like fugitives. Surreptitiously we were instructed to be ready to leave at 7am. Directions to the pick-up points would be issued just before we leave the hotel. Later on, the departure time was changed to 12.30.
In the reception area our cohort was informed of a further change in plans. For security reasons we would no longer be travelling by bus. We needed to divide ourselves into groups of three and call for a taxi or an Uber and head off to an address provided. We were instructed to leave the hotel one group at a time, to be followed by the next, only if the previous group had informed the others that they were in their respective vehicles and on their way.
We (myself and two other South Africans) were the first to leave. With rucksacks on our backs and the best wishes of our fellow travellers, we stepped into the blinding midday sunlight and made our way to the street corner where our Uber would pick us up.
Muhammed, our driver, a pleasant affable chap, offered us a cigarette, as we set off on the highway out of Cairo. About an hour out of Cairo we reached the Kamphashir toll station. It was chaos. Cars, tourist buses and minicabs were being held up by dozens and dozens of law enforcement types, some in uniforms, others in plain clothes, all of them armed. There was also a military presence. People were being asked for their passports and told to step out of their vehicles and wait on the side of the road.
Amid it all, we concocted a story that we were heading to a youth hostel just beyond the toll gate to spend a few days at the ocean. After handing over our passports and having our phones scrutinised, we were told to join the masses on the side of the road. Nobody seemed to know what was going on except that it was quite obvious that the authorities were onto us. We speculated that we would probably be forced onto the police transport vehicles and either taken directly to the airport to be deported or, worse, taken to a detention centre.
Some of the organisers tried to negotiate our safe passage to continue. After about an hour the authorities offered back our passports on condition that we returned to Cairo. And because most of the taxis and Uber drivers had understandably left the scene, we would have to make use of the transport provided by the police.
A few “delegates” took up the offer but the majority of the roughly 250 people chose to stay put, determined to continue on our mission. The decision was also taken that if we were not allowed to proceed then we would set up camp right there on the side of the road. The rejection of the offer seemed to infuriate the officers present.
After almost three hours in the scorching heat, we were penned in a confined space and told to wait as more military and crowd control vehicles rolled up. Men armed with Kalashnikovs and other weaponry surrounded us.
About 4 000 people from about 80 countries met in Cairo and had planned to walk 45km from el-Arish in Egypt’s North Sanai Governorate to Rafah on the southern border of the Gaza Strip. But they were stopped before even reaching the border. Photo: Jimi Matthews
We were informed that we would not be allowed to proceed with our journey and that if we did not board the buses that had now replaced the police vehicles we would not get our passports back.
During the standoff we made the most of the solidarity inspired by comrades rallying around a common cause. There were activists from around the world, sharing what food and water that they had. Young people chanting the now universally known slogans in support of Palestine. A small group of Turkish musicians, playing traditional instruments and singing soulful songs, kept us entertained. Despite the oppressive heat, our spirits were high, united in our determination not to be moved.
And then, unannounced, a bunch of large burly men, bouncer types, descended on us. Senior activists advised the group to sit down, remain calm, interlock our arms and offer no resistance. In the face of barked commands and threats, a group of young people started singing freedom songs in support of Palestine. On command, the men suddenly started grabbing at those on the fringes. Any resistance was met by hard body blows and kicks. Some people also suffered baton blows to the body. In the ensuing panic we were forced to board the buses. Still shook up, I realised I was on the wrong bus. In the bus alongside singing broke out and the young people were rocking again, undaunted by the threats of violence.
We were kept waiting on the buses until our passports were returned to each of us. In the dark we headed back to Cairo. And then on the outskirts of Cairo we were unceremoniously dropped off, two or three at a time, at random intervals. Still shook up we made our way back to the hotel.
As I reflected on the day, I realised we had won. We were not cowered. We did not make it to Rafah but we did not capitulate. Our demand for the humanitarian aid corridors to Gaza to be opened and an end to the siege remain.
Jimi Matthews is a writer, photographer, editor, cameraman and producer. He covered the First Intifada in 1989 and has visited the Occupied Territories many times since then. His work included a major photo exhibition of his visit in 2023.