It has been a surreal day. And so many of you have emailed, sent text messages, Facebooked, and called, worried and concerned, I thought that it would be best to just write a few thoughts down to share. I don’t usually like doing this, but the situation calls for it, I guess.

First of all, my area is fine. It is safe, and away from the majority of the troubles you can see on TV. School was closed this week for half-term vacation, and we are not sure if we are going to open on time next week — we may stay closed until we know exactly what is going on.

Bahrain’s people went to the streets on February 14 and, as you all know now, gathered en masse at the Pearl Roundabout in central Manama a few days ago. From hundreds to thousands they came, walking, driving, hitching rides, scooting through on bikes, to join as one voice.

I went to the Pearl Roundabout yesterday. In hindsight, I guess it may have been a silly thing to do. But I felt, at the time, that history was unfolding, a chapter in this country’s book was being written, that I had to be there, and I also wanted to see for myself exactly what the people there were doing.

I drove past the Roundabout, and what normally takes 30 seconds took about 45 minutes, crawling through bumper-to-bumper traffic. A young man came up my car and tapped on the window, which would normally make me nervous, but he smiled, and said “thank you for coming”. Another man directed traffic so that it went as smoothly as possible. Others collected rubbish. Many were waving flags. Many were holding up posters. Some chanted, some sang. The ever-present entrepreneurs appeared and sold popcorn, snacks, and sheesha. There were tents set up all over the place.  I drove up on to the bridge and parked, and went to the railings to see the scene unfold.

The people on the bridge were so open, willing to talk, and to translate in to English if I asked them to. People I have never met and will never see again shared their stories with me as I was an old friend.

And all the while, it was peaceful.

And I just couldn’t stop staring at their faces. These beautiful people with their dark eyes and eye lashes so long … big beaming smiles as they asked “do you think the world can hear us?”… an old man resting on the curbstone with his sandalled feet resting on the road … young friends in groups, families, couples … the young woman who said “welcome to be here, my friend” to me as she passed, waving a Bahraini flag … snapshots of these people so clear in my mind that I didn’t need a camera to remember them by.

They were animated and wanted to talk. They wanted to share their stories, discuss, and debate. There were young, old, men, women, Suni, Shia, rich, poor, educated, not educated, quiet, loud … people, whatever way you looked at it. They were collecting rubbish, directing traffic, assisting people across the road, clearing the way, and being peaceful. Word on the street was that they would stay there for as long as they had to, weeks, maybe even months.

And then this morning the Pearl Roundabout was cleared.

I was not there. I do not know the truth first hand. The phones have been ringing all day, endlessly, and you have to learn how to filter the gossip and rumors. According to doctors on the scene at the hospital, ambulances were ordered to not attend to the wounded from the early morning incident at Pearl. According to the radio, doctors attending to the wounded who made it through to the A+E stated that the wounds they saw were not all caused by the weaponry reported as being used. Some say four people died, some say up to 50. Some say the demonstrators started it, some say the security forces did. Some say martial law is going to be in effect soon, some say it will all be over within a few days. Some say Friday will be like hell on earth here, some say it won’t be. People are booking flights out of here at the same time as others are saying “bugger it — let’s go to the Rugby Club for a beer, keep calm and carry on”.

People are edgy. The supermarket was heaving today with people stockpiling food, water, and supplies. Whispers of curfew, stores closing, getting supplies in for a week, and “crap — is the booze shop open?” filtered through the aisles. It felt like the start of Gulf War I, for those of you who were here for that. Empty roads. Helicopters all the time. People either bitchy and behaving like assholes, or being overly nice, desperate for any sign of a smile — a sign of the kinder side of humanity, I guess.

The next few days will be important for Bahrain. What will happen is anyone’s guess at the moment. I don’t know what to expect or what to think. It will happen when it happens, whatever “it” is.

I feel sad for the people — all the people — of this country. And I am upset that the real truth is just so hard to find.

In the end, though, regardless of the endless side-taking, speculation, rumors, gossip, truths, lies, facts, and non-facts, one thing is clear to me … it is a sad day in Bahrain today.