It was unusual to find myself in the Lyceum Theatre, let alone being the first one there. Half past 6 and I was standing by the box office to collect my ticket like some self-proclaimed theatre fanatic. Nevertheless, I sit down in the Howard Bar for an hour until the show commences. You Bury Me, a rather depressing name for a rather depressing subject matter – six teenagers in Cairo, Egypt who battle the typical melodramatic troubles of that age while also living in a state of revolution and violence post-Arab Spring. As I sipped away at my drink, I wondered how they’d manage to pull off something so dire alongside something so awkward. The bar was trying to appear old-timely with marble pillars and stairs alongside brass lamps decorating the tables, perhaps this was meant to reflect the people that typically find themselves here.
I take my seat in the ‘Grand Circle’, Row G, Seat 10, I was pleased with the clear frontal view and the lack of people sitting beside me. The bar’s aesthetic had seeped through into the theatre itself with worn-out red velvet seating with gold accents. Ahead of me were the box seats to my left and right, adorned with blue pillars and burgundy curtains. My mind began to wonder why somebody would pay extra for seats with such a terrible view, perhaps so the audience becomes aware they can afford such a thing? These pensive thoughts kept my brain engaged while Arabic music bellows through the crowd.
7:35 and 6 people enter the stripped-back stage, we have been taken back to 2015 when Cairo’s youth faced their ‘last dying embers of hope’ after the 2011 revolution in which they overthrew the government. One of the young men says there’s a feeling we all know well, ‘the feeling of it all going completely to fuck.’ While I can’t relate to the bombings, terrorism or hate crimes, I do know that feeling in another sense.
We meet Tamer, somebody who believes ‘every girl he met was potentially the one’. It’s comforting to know that teenage delusion is a universal experience as I reflect on my younger years. He and his girlfriend Alia are a toxic pairing that represents most young romances. The awkward kisses and declarations of love give me the second-hand embarrassment the director probably craved for. Maya is determined to give Lina a makeover, two new characters who are too detached to have met before. While I couldn’t help but feel as though this was painfully typical, Lina accepts this only to be swarmed with teenage topics; Maya’s divulgence takes her aback. The crowd laughs as I wonder if the obvious comedic choices present a coping mechanism these teens grasp onto.
The final characters are Osman, a blogger who is determined to fight back against the violence, and Rafik, somebody who would rather just move on. Osman’s determination for change may have caused the breakup between him and his girlfriend, he thinks he should’ve been with her during the revolution. Disruption in Cairo drives feelings of guilt and regret, despite little of it being in the citizens' control.
From Tamer and Alia experiencing their first awkward sexual encounter, to Lina being in fury over Maya’s frequent parties filled with older men and drunkenness, it’s obvious that even in an entirely different state of living that I am familiar with, we all face the same artificial issues.
‘I want it to be okay for women in this country to have sex whenever they want!’ Maya exclaims to Lina after she is annoyed at Maya’s plan to lose her virginity. Rather straight to the point, however, I naively underestimated that such a thing would be a problem. Lina’s disdain isn’t driven by purity, it’s by her feelings for her. I start to feel grateful that homosexuality is more widely accepted in Scotland, possibly I misjudged how ‘melodramatic’ their issues may be.
Rafik and Osman’s differing views reach a breaking point after Rafik wipes all of Osman’s writing from his laptop. ‘They already won!’ shouts Rafik. ‘I don’t want to live in fear!’ Osman screams as he demands he doesn’t want him in his life anymore.
As the cast move towards the audience, there is a palpable seriousness. ‘Two strangers falling to their knees praying to a god they don’t believe in’. The most beautiful line I heard tonight, faith is something which we all turn to in urgent times.
‘They going to take me, aren’t they?’ says Rafik. ‘Yes.’
While people search for him, Osman can’t overcome his guilt. People are living in such a heightened and paranoid state of mind, their anxiety is making them clumsy with their words.
Tamer runs away with Alia, while Maya is never to be seen again. Moving to Canada, Osman thinks it’s best to ‘leave it the brave and free’. Although, I’ve learned it’s impossible to be brave and free in Cairo. While we are fundamentally the same and share the same adolescent highs and lows, we are also wildly different.
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