Amal (أمل)

My name?

What difference does my name make?

I am just a lover who finally found his place.

My age?

Even if I were one thousand years old.

In your eyes, I will always be a child.

And you will remain my only shelter.

I have tales to recount.

That no one else can put in words.

And if I run out of words.

Your eyes will remain my poem in exile.

I am made out of love.

And only for love I'd die.

I will walk the whole earth.

To tell everyone my story.

A runaway lover who returned to you in remorse.

Amal!

Amal!

Last night, I dreamt of my father.

He was a policeman.

He carried a gun and wore an officer's uniform.

It was my 14th birthday.

In January.

A day of rage and chaos.

People running all around in fear.

I heard my father singing to me from far.

"Happy birthday to you".

But I was scared when I saw him on the other side with the police.

What changed?

I saw my father walking toward the tear gas' smoke,

then he disappeared.

He left me all alone.

But I could still hear him singing.

Singing to me...

Then...

everything went silent.

I found myself lost.

I couldn't find my way anymore.

I didn't know which road to take.

You bunch of animals!

Hurry up!

See how they obey me?

- You, get out of there! - Why are you talking to me this way?

- Get out! - I'll spray this on you.

- Go away! - Screw you!

Just get the hell out!

What did I do wrong?

- You're retarded. - Why? Because I'm singing?

You'll get arrested.

Let it be. I'm ready to go to jail.

Talk to me as a boy, not a girl.

Are you one of those hooligans?

No. My boyfriend was. He died in that stadium.

You think my hostility comes from nowhere?

Let's sing!

This revolution was a defeat for you.

Who shall we tell.

Our policemen are criminals.

You took a hard slap on the face.

The police are a bunch of thugs.

You're a thug.

Get out of here.

Don't talk to us this way. To hell with you and your platoon.

If you are afraid, don't come along.

We will not obey your orders.

Spare us your presence.

They tried to divert our cause.

As they always do with their dirty ways,

The police arrested me and called me a terrorist.

For holding a flare and chanting for my team.

You bunch of losers, You failed in school.

And joined the police academy.

To control us in our house.

Greetings to you all.

We continue our film of summer 1997.

We're at the beach.

Today is August 18th,

and Miss Amal can sit on her own

for the first time as you can see.

This is of course a great event.

Hello Amal!

Today, a group of honest policemen

accused the Ministry of the Interior

of conspiring against football fans

and being responsible for the Port Said stadium massacre.

The goal of this conspiracy would be

to spread chaos and impose the current state of emergency...

The train from Port Said has arrived, carrying the injured

and the dead of the stadium massacre

as well as the supporters who were attending the game.

I wore a red shirt.

On my way to Port Said.

I came home in a white coffin.

I am a martyr on my own land.

Mustafa was my first love

and my best friend.

I grew up with him.

On that day, I was so afraid.

I begged him not to go to the stadium

and to watch the game with me.

He refused...

He left, then he never returned.

I can't bear the thought that he's forever gone.

No words can express how I feel.

So it's better to keep it all inside.

Stop treating me like a man.

Nothing scares men, you shouldn't be afraid.

If I acted as a girl in the revolution.

I would have been useless.

I had to be a man.

Same as them.

So I could have a place,

both inside and outside the clashes.

But I don't know if I should be happy or sad.

When they mistake me for a boy like them.

- Till when will you play? - Midnight.

Midnight? It's already 11.30pm.

- There's too much traffic! - Who cares?

It'll be midnight by the time we get to the metro.

No, it won't.

You want to hit me?

- And you call yourself a man? - Yes!

Don't you call yourself a man too?

Don't cry Amal.

Sit-ins are not for girls.

Every time one of you guys curses me,

and orders me to go home

I'm not a child you can order around.

No one treated you like a child.

It's late and you're the only girl here.

Sit-ins are not for girls.

You must leave or someone will harass you.

I can take care of myself, I don't need any of you.

- Do you know what time it is? - Screw the time!

I was in the Square for 4 weeks, and I never left!

Even when the army took over, I didn't leave.

Listen, I don't want to talk anymore!

I'm not a child.

Not even my mother can order me around.

I promised to let you stay.

I don't need any promises from you to make or break.

You were beaten and dragged around.

The Square and you never cried

and now you're crying for this?

Today is special,

It's the birthday of my dear wife, the mother of our darling Amal.

We are gathered around to sing for her,

No, no, don't sing yet!

Turn the light on.

Good evening dear Mom,

Happy birthday.

And here's Dad kissing Mom on the mouth.

A little bit of romance.

Dad sits next to her.

We are all very happy.

No! Hush till I finish.

We are all very happy, let us now sing for her.

Easy! Easy on me, you savage!

Amal, give your mother a kiss.

Mom, here I come!

Where were you? I was so worried.

- Kiss your mom. - Apologize to her.

They're like your brothers, they can control you.

Listen Amal, you're driving us crazy.

She never had any siblings to listen to.

She just takes the key and leaves

I went to honor my departed friends.

They're not your real friends, you met in the protests.

She was curious about the clashes.

No, how could I know this was going to happen?

I never imagined Mubarak resigning, nor the regime falling.

But I saw with my own eyes

people killed by hired thugs, shops' robberies...

I understood a big change was happening.

Tell them how I looked when I came home.

They dragged her and beat her,

her body was covered in bruises and scars...

Sometimes at night,

I can still hear their voices.

"What the hell are you doing here, bitch?"

They pulled out my hair with their hands.

I looked like Cristiano (Ronaldo) with his spiky haircut.

Since that day, this hoodie became a part of me.

We have the choice between two shitty candidates.

Either typhus or cholera

and we have to choose the lesser evil.

The Brotherhood and their rule of slavery,

or Shafik and the military regime.

Then everything will return as it was,

as if we fought the revolution for nothing.

You have pretty braids like these?

We are about to elect a new president for a new Egypt,

a patriot who loves Egypt and the Egyptians.

Is that why you'll vote for a corrupt candidate?

No, he is not corrupt.

All those who were a part of Mubarak's government are corrupt.

I'm voting for Chafik, and he's not corrupt.

Mom, you never went to The Square.

Yes, I did.

- During the clashes? - Yes.