Sounds of a revolution

Anyone who has ever lived in Cairo is used to noise. As a Delaware native working here since 2011, I've seen rush-hour pileups, riot police, and a few dozen rowdy weddings all pass through my square. The first week of July, however, was significantly noisier than normal.

As the third became the fourth of July, Cairo was having its own fireworks show celebrating the ouster of Egypt's first elected president, Mohamed Morsi. By July 5, however, fireworks were being used as weapons.

Morsi's first year did not inspire confidence, and for good reason. A lax police force and poor security conditions provoked the flight of foreign investment and tourists alike, while presidential power grabs and a failure to address the demands of the revolution stoked further opposition.

By late June, none of the numbers were looking good: 3,642 arrests; 359 recorded cases of torture; 13.2 percent unemployment, all leading to perhaps the most damning figure of all: 22 million. This was the tally of signatures collected by a grassroots campaign calling for Morsi to step down, with protests planned for June 30.

When that day came, chants drifted in through our newsroom's windows as crowds wound their way in from rallying points across Cairo, from middle-class mosques to northern slums. By the time dusk settled in, Egyptian television showed thousands at Tahrir Square and the presidential palace. In the next few days, the opposition swelled to millions as marches poured in from across the country.

For those first two days of July, the stories crossing my desk were peppered with far-off clashes. On the night of July 2, however, the sounds came closer. Gunfights between opposing marches broke out at Cairo University, just south of our office. We worked from home the next day.

July 3 brought the end of the 48-hour deadline set by the army for Morsi and the opposition to "resolve their differences" - or else. Gen. Abdel Fattah al-Sisi was somewhat relaxed about the deadline, but the announcement had an overture.

Right before dusk, three troop-laden trucks drove by my window. The army was out in force, with tanks and armored personnel carriers rolling on the streets and helicopters overhead. While yet to be stated officially, the message was clear: The army stood with the opposition.

Hours later, al-Sisi's speech echoed on the speakers outside my apartment. When he announced the suspension of Morsi's unpopular constitution (and, in effect, his presidency), the cheers exploded around me. Over the next few hours, they built into a wall of sound - pops, crackles, horns, chants, drums, whistles, and shouts. It came from all directions at once and didn't let up until late that night.

For the next few mornings, I woke to the thump of helicopters or the heavy scrape of jets overhead. The military, riding the wave of popular support, was making its presence known with constant flyovers.

However, on July 5, a different sort of crowd was moving through my square. These were Morsi loyalists, thousands of them, and they were nowhere near as enamored of the military coup.

As dusk fell, reports came in through Twitter that Morsi loyalists were heading across bridges just north and south of me to Tahrir Square, where the opposition had gathered in the thousands.

Suddenly, the same fireworks popping in celebration only nights earlier were being launched as streaking projectiles by the opposition to fight off a group of Morsi supporters armed with automatic weapons. Fighting raged for an hour before the army pushed loyalists back through my neighborhood. I could hear it all, and strained to distinguish the difference. Gunshots are sharper, someone told me; fireworks more hollow.

With ongoing rival demonstrations between those celebrating the army and those decrying the coup, the pops and bangs are a constant presence. Recently, the fireworks were mostly being reserved for the holy month of Ramadan, but the noise of this conflict is far from over.