Khalid Abdalla's Nowhere: On Egypt's revolution and the ties that bind
Who am I, and how did I end up here?
This is the question with which Khalid Abdalla begins his play Nowhere. It might sound like a personal question, specific to the play’s protagonist; indeed, I never expected to see entire parts of my personal life embodied in such a brilliant solo performance.
At London’s Battersea Arts Centre, in a sold-out 90-minute show that has been widely praised, Abdalla delivered a stunning performance inspired by the 2011 Egyptian uprising and the counter-revolution that followed it.
The play is a reflection on revolution, massacres, Gaza, the West, the Sykes-Picot deal, the departure of friends, and many other issues that contribute to the question of identity. Who are we, and how did we end up here?
At the outset, Abdalla references the biblical story of Noah, describing a dove scouting for land in the wake of a massive flood.
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The first time, the bird returns to the ark after a long flight, indicating that it found nowhere to settle. Seven days later, the dove is sent out again, and returns carrying an olive branch, suggesting that the waters had started to recede. The third time, the bird doesn’t return at all, having found a place to settle.
As an orphan of Egypt’s 25 January revolution, I found myself witnessing a performance that evoked my personal memories, even though I never wrote them down.
'National service'
On 25 January 2011, I was in the military, performing mandatory service that I never enjoyed. They called it “serving the nation”, but I believed the real service was happening just a few kilometres away from me, in the heart of Cairo’s Tahrir Square.
I missed my opportunity to truly serve my nation because I was required to perform “national service” - a false interpretation of the term. Could there be anything more absurd?
Later, I managed to get leave from my unit commander and witnessed the resignation of former President Hosni Mubarak at Tahrir Square. I was present at every major event of the revolution after that. Until I left Egypt five days before the 2013 coup, I didn’t miss a single revolutionary scene.
I felt myself taking off like Noah's dove - but unlike the bird, I missed the ship and haven't yet found land
In that context, I felt myself taking off like Noah’s dove - but unlike the bird, I missed the ship and haven’t yet found land.
In Nowhere, Abdalla tells the story of his friend, the revolutionary artist Aalam Wassef, who died on 11 February 2023, the anniversary of Mubarak’s resignation, after a battle with cancer.
I hate cancer. In early 2021, I was working with my dear friend Mohamed Abouelgheit on a podcast project. He complained of stomach pains, but I urged him not to worry, as his description of the discomfort reminded me of the gallstones I had experienced several years earlier.
He told me that, as a doctor, he knew I was mistaken - but I was foolishly confident enough to bet him £20 ($25) that it was just a gallstone.
We continued our work as he underwent a series of tests. By June of that year, he learned he had a stomach tumour.
Souls merged
In his play, Abdalla presents footage from Wassef’s birthday party in his hospital room, which closely resembles the last birthday celebration we held for my friend Mohamed. Abdalla shows a picture of Wassef in his final days, which strikingly resembles an image of Mohamed.
Wassef’s last achievement was an art exhibition, while Mohamed’s final accomplishment was a beautiful book recounting his battle with cancer. Mohamed died on 5 December 2022, two months before Wassef.
Abdalla takes us through a collective flood: a decade of events, both public and personal, as he blends his story with Wassef’s - and mine with Mohamed’s. I am certain other viewers found similar parallels.
Our souls merged during a moment in time that became our ongoing reality - a collective memory that is striking in its power and absurdity.
At the end of the novel The Stranger by Albert Camus, after the protagonist, Meursault, is convicted of murder and scheduled for execution, he re-examines his life and confronts his reality without any illusions or excuses. Despite everything he has experienced, he comes to a deep acceptance of his fate.
Meursault realises that, thanks to his straightforward attitude towards life, he has found harmony between his thoughts and his existence. He summarises this with the famous quote: “In the depths of my soul, I knew that I had been happy.”
And so did we, Meursault - oh, excuse me - so did we, Abdalla. In the depths of our souls, we knew that we had been happy.
The views expressed in this article belong to the author and do not necessarily reflect the editorial policy of Middle East Eye.
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