5pm, Saturday 5 Feb: There’s graffiti on the burnt-out hulk of the ruling NDP party’s headquarters: a cross and crescent. “We are all against the regime,” it says.
Inside the army cordon around the perimeter of the square, you can hear the chants from the demo inside.
I pass a queue of hundreds waiting to enter the square. Bin bags are piled up neatly by a burnt-out car.
We have to move quickly as the area is full of security police. My guides feel it is too risky to enter the square now.
The conversation buzzes with tension—stories of attacks on human rights centres, friends arrested and journalists beaten.
There’s fear, but also hope. Mubarak will go, my guides say—for sure he’ll go.