An Egyptian Military Police soldier (R) collecting documents in front of the Egyptian Internal Security Services building in Alexandria, Egypt March 4, 2011. According to local media reports, Egyptian protesters tried to enter a building of the Internal Security Service in Alexandria March 4, Photo: picture alliance / dpa

I wanted to talk but they silenced me, I wanted to know but they banned me and I wanted to work but they stood in my way. I wanted to breathe but they polluted the air, I wanted to be but they classified me and I wanted to explore but they bound me.

Amn El Dawla, the Arabic name for the infamous Egyptian state security apparatus, was established before I was born and has been hard at work ever since. Everyone was seen as a threat to the nation and the regime, and they made it their job to know everything about us all. If you haven’t done anything wrong then you don’t need to worry was their argument, but they had a monopoly on the interpretation of wrong, and the torture of wrong-doers was systematic.

To gather, process and act upon the amount of information they had, a large workforce was recruited. No one knows exactly how large it was, but estimates range from 100,000 to half a million people, in a country whose population stands at around 80 million. The police force and Central Security services are estimated to employ multiples of State Security.

For every 160 to 800 people there was someone to watch them, and many more to police them. The numbers, however, do not reflect the many casual informers who were called upon at will, and who cooperated out of fear.

Describing Egypt as a police state was not an exaggeration.

Many of my family and friends were what I call “non-recruited agents.” They pressured me numerous times not to do certain things in fear of clashing with the security service; these included organizing movie nights and sporting facial hair.

Big brother frightened us so much that we volunteered to do his illegitimate work for him, amid muted mumblings of frustration.

As the former president’s son, Gamal Mubarak, prepared himself to become the next Egyptian Pharaoh, the Ministry of Interior’s noose tightened on all forms of opposition. 95% of parliament seats were given to the ruling National Democratic Party in widely forged elections and the judiciary was sidelined, their rulings ignored. The inheritance of the presidency seemed inevitable.

But dawn breaks after the night is darkest and Bouazizi, the Tunisian whose self-immolation lit the way to the uprising of the region, and the ouster of Zine El Abidine Ben Ali had given us unprecedented hope.

There were planned protests on January 25 but the outcome was in no way expected.

On this day, tens of thousands took to the streets chanting for the freedom they have longed for all their lives.

After the protesters were able to push through the police and central security forces and take over Tahrir or Liberation Square, it became the pulsating heart of the revolution. Millions gathered there in protest and thousands of tents were set up. We had liberated Liberation Square.

An anti-government demonstrator holds an Egyptian national flag as he takes part in a candlelight vigil for the people who were killed during the protests against Egypt's President Hosni Mubarak, in Tahrir Square, Cairo, Egypt, February 9, 2011, Photo: picture alliance / (c) dpa

It is odd how I felt most free when locked in a confined space with hundreds of thousands of others. But freedom was to be found in the heart. We were free from the fear that had held us captives for decades on end. For the great majority of the square inhabitants including myself, we had never known what it is like to be free in our own country before.

The army had secured the square with tanks, soldiers and guns. Many of us helped monitor the borders to thwart attempts of undercover police to enter, and as they say, the rest is history.

I will always remember the day I walked into the square to be greeted by two lines of protesters, about a hundred meters long, on both sides of the entrance. They were all chanting in the most beautiful voice. Some patted me on my back and shoulders as I walked through. The pats were full of tenderness and made me feel at home. I belonged.

They chanted “Welcome welcome to the heroes, welcome welcome to the free.”