A year after the Egyptian revolution, it hardly looks like things have changed. The decrepit taxis still run and negotiate for every pound they can.
The streets are still crumbing.
The burned out Ministry of Internal Affairs Building, a monument of the Arab Spring, like the other old buildings, temples and monuments, still graces the banks of the Nile.
People continue to protest.
The men in power surround themselves with soldiers.
Still – while driving through the Cairo, I was surprised to feel a lightness in the air. I felt hope not darkness.
The young keep living and dancing.
It’s still a place where the sweet potato street vendor can leave his cart in the middle of the intersection under the peace cranes.
And still some Egyptians believe the Americans understand their cause and their desire for democracy.