Diary of a Political Detainee in Egypt. (1)
On July 31, 2020, it was the day before Eid. The girls arrived in town to prepare for the celebration, and I went to take my Eid shower and shaved my beard. It was an extremely hot day, so I turned on all the air conditioners, made myself a cup of black coffee, and sat browsing the internet.
At 1:00 a.m., a group of men stormed into my apartment, searching it aggressively to the point of breaking an antique door more than a century old. They pulled me out of my office to search it.
The office contained a large library with thousands of books, many of them rare and gifted to me by the authors. Among the most significant items were some documents belonging to Dr. Sayed Al-Qimni, entrusted to me for safekeeping. Even more valuable than those were my late father’s gold Omega watch, which held immense sentimental and financial value.
Later, I found out that both the watch and 8,000 Egyptian pounds in cash were untouched. It’s not that state security officers steal; they have an air of superiority and arrogance that makes theft beneath them. This is genuinely a trait they don’t have.
When I was led out of the office, I encountered a polite police officer. I asked him, “Are you okay with what’s happening here?” He looked down in silence. I called out to one of the men searching, “Do you even know whose apartment you’re searching? There must be some mistake!”
They left the office carrying the computer case and a box with about 500 family event CDs. They were also looking for the phone I use to access the internet, refusing to believe that my phone didn’t even have a camera.
One of them took my phone, my essential silver keychain, and a bag containing painkillers and medication, saying, “You’re coming with us!” I asked, “Should I at least turn off the air conditioners and lights?” They curtly replied, “No means no.”
As I went down in the elevator with a civilian officer, he was glancing at my ID and commented with astonishment, “Are you related to So-and-So Shoman, who lives on the third floor, apartment 23, on Such-and-Such Street?” Eagerly, I responded, “Yes, did he report me?” I repeated the question three times, but he avoided answering, visibly uneasy.
At that moment, I began to sense real danger. At first, I thought it was a hidden camera prank by Ibrahim Nasr or Ramez Galal. But once Shoman’s name came up, I knew the threat was from within.
In the elevator, soldiers were rushing down the stairs with weapons drawn, their seriousness evident. They reached the ground floor with us, where the entrance was swarming with security personnel. One of them approached, blindfolded me, cuffed my hands, and led me out of the building.
I could hear a deliberately loud commotion outside—likely to intimidate the neighbors. Windows were opening, people were talking, police car sirens were blaring, and walkie-talkie chatter mixed with officers yelling orders.
Honestly, they staged a scene in my street to convince people I was a disguised Bin Laden living among them for 25 years!
I was put in the back of a police van, and the convoy started moving. I later learned it included National Security forces, detectives from the Giza police, and Rapid Deployment Forces. But why all this expense when they could’ve just called me in?
In the midst of the absurdity, I remembered my infamous statement: “No one can arrest me, not even the Egyptian army, unless they call in the U.S. Sixth Fleet.”
I jokingly tried to lift the blindfold to look for the Sixth Fleet in the Mariotia Canal but refrained out of fear of the overly serious attitude of the team capturing the “dangerous terrorist” Mohamed Shoman.
To be continued..
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