Issue No. 610
Living
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31 Oct. - 6 Nov. 2002 Issue No. 610 Living |
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Mood Swings: The great escape
The keynote speaker at the Model Arab League (MAL), a simulated debate held at the American University in Cairo, had just concluded his speech and exited the Ewart Hall. My job here was done, now it was time to rush back to the newspaper and write up the story. Little did I know that I would have to loudly bicker my way out of the hall, before I could put fingers to keyboard.
"This is highly irregular," argued one of the ushers, trying to block the exit of a group of reporters at the aisle. With a little agility, I managed to manoeuvre around the group, giving very little thought to the polite pleas of the young student. My job is to get out of here come hell or high water.
Reaching the exit door, I was confronted by a larger crowd of guests negotiating their way to freedom on the other side of the intricately carved wooden and glass doors. I paused to take in the scene. My preference is always to make a good assessment of the task ahead and then plunge into the fray. Within minutes, I was joined by the rest of the reporters who had nimbly passed the distressed usher.
"This university has rules, and since you are here, you must abide by them. You will have to stay until the proceedings end," a fresh-faced student was explaining in a patronising tone to all those gathered. "I cannot open this door now. Not even I can leave," she added unconvincingly. Flanked by two smartly dressed tie-and-shirt and shirt-and-suit male students, all three undergraduates-cum-bouncers were adamant.
I finally spoke, demanding an explanation for our ridiculous incarceration. In hushed tones, the rule was repeated by all three bouncers, but no reasoning was forthcoming. OK. Who put the rule in place? "Oh, the Public Relations Department." Fine. I want to speak to the PR boss. "I can set up an appointment for you," tie-and- shirt condescended. No, no, I will talk to the boss now. "You can't leave now, so you can't meet him." Well, go fetch him in here. "No, impossible."
I am a reasonable woman, but the banter was descending below my liking, and if rationale was not working, Plan B was to raise the volume. In an unspoken covert agreement, all the prisoners began a talking riot at the back of the hall, despite the frantic "shush" coming from the audience. "OK, OK, we'll let you out when the current speaker finishes," the dashing bouncer decided. That's reasonable, although another wasted minute with these dear students would be too taxing. But then again, allow the young to have their moment.
The professor finished his address and applause echoed around the auditorium. The moment had come... and passed... on purpose.
The dashing bouncers had pulled a fast one on me, and now I decided that my time was worth more than their young egos. I flooded my lungs with oxygen and began on a soliloquy: "Let us out now, I will not stop talking until you let us out, I have a story to write, I will leave now, you cannot keep us in here, I will not lower my voice, I want to speak to someone in charge..."
I wasn't going to stop my crescendo, if it wasn't for an interruption by a green-eyed brunette behind me accusing me (in a voice louder than mine) that I was ruining nine months of MAL work. Well, you're spoiling my work as a journalist, I said, and secretly thought, so we're even. "Lower your voice, someone make her lower her voice, you can't do this," she ordered hysterically as her temper rose. I might have let out a sly smile as I considered challenging her to make me. But nah, I have her exactly where I want her. "I will lower my voice when you let me out," was my final offer. She took me up on my proposal, "I will let you out, I will let you out..."
But before she could exercise her authority, I turned and the gates to freedom had flung open by some miracle. I had missed the final moments before the prisoners saw the light on the other side, because I was arguing with green eyes.
You think it was over, so did I. But smart tie- and-shirt, who was the most militant of the lot, had quickly gone past the door and blocked it conspiratorially with his foot. He left only a few inches to torment the hostages inside. And as prisoner number one, I could feel the rays of light on my face, I could smell the fresh air, I could see the people outside blissfully enjoying their freedom. It was too much to bear.
"Let us out. NOW!" I bellowed, and the foot voluntarily jerked out of place.
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