The Canada Day story I need to tell

This Canada Day, I want to tell you a story about the Canada I love.

It started before I even walked through the doors of BC Place for Egypt’s World Cup match against New Zealand earlier this month.

You may unsubscribe from any of our newsletters at any time.

Tens of thousands of us were moving through downtown Vancouver draped in red scarves and Egyptian flags, chanting the same word over and over.

Masr. Masr. Masr.

Egypt.

Not everyone chanting was Egyptian, but it didn’t matter. Days earlier, Egypt had held Belgium to a draw — and suddenly a fan base long accustomed to disappointment had something dangerous: hope. With a chance to reach the World Cup knockout stage for the first time, “Masr” became more than the name of a country. It became a rhythm, a pulse. Something you felt in your chest before you understood it in your head.

I’m a journalist, trained to observe, to stand outside the moment. That night, I failed spectacularly at that.

I wasn’t there as a reporter. I was an Egyptian kid from Mississauga about to watch his national team play a World Cup match on Canadian soil.

I had watched Egypt play hundreds of times on television. I had celebrated goals and lived through heartbreak, including the 10-year-old version of me who watched Egypt’s World Cup dream fall apart in Russia in 2017 and still hasn’t made peace with it. I thought I knew what this night would feel like.

I was wrong.

Being Canadian-Egyptian often feels like a negotiation. I was born and raised in Mississauga and have only visited Egypt three times. I carry two identities that don’t always know how to speak to each other. In Egypt, I’m the Canadian cousin. In Canada, I’m the Egyptian kid. Both identities make me who I am, and I wouldn’t trade either for anything.

Just days earlier, I had been cheering Canada’s historic 5-0 victory over Qatar. Now I was in Vancouver, preparing to watch Egypt chase history of its own. For the first time in my life, both halves of me occupied the same place.

The couple behind me only made that feeling stronger.

More on Broadview:

Masr. Masr.

They weren’t Egyptian. They had simply learned the chant because it was impossible not to. That was the remarkable thing about this crowd. Thousands of people, from every background imaginable, were swept into the same moment.

New Zealand supporters sat in front of me. We cheered different teams and groaned at different moments. But when the final whistle sounded and Egypt won 3-1, rivalry disappeared.

A young boy reached up for a high five. Moments later, his mother turned her phone to face me. “She’s on your side,” she said, introducing her Egyptian friend on the screen.

“We did it,” I said. “Mabrouk!” Congratulations!

Around us, strangers hugged. Children jumped. Fans kissed Egyptian flags. Songs celebrating Egypt echoed through the stadium while players paraded the flag around the pitch.

I found myself wondering: Ya Masr Betaameleeha Ezay? Egypt, how do you do it? How do you go 92 years without a World Cup win, then make Vancouver sound and feel like Cairo?

After the match, coach Hossam Hassan said his team played as though they were at Cairo Stadium. The whole stadium, he said, was Egyptian.

My phone rang at the final whistle. It was my family calling from Egypt. “How was it?” they asked. “We heard you were there. We’re so happy.” It was nearly 6 a.m there, and millions had poured into the streets celebrating.

For a moment, Vancouver and Cairo didn’t feel separated by 10,000 kilometres.

And for the first time, it felt like I didn’t have to choose between them. I got to be in Canada, on Canadian soil, and watch Egypt — my Egypt — make history.

In a tournament built on national pride, that felt distinctly Canadian.

***

Ahmad Elbayoumi is the author of POLICORNER, a newsletter on the politics, policies and personalities at Queen’s Park.