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Vast crowds in Tahrir Square expected a victory party after the departure of Mubarak – but it was not to be Rain is rare in Cairo, thunder even more so. Tahrir Square experienced both, and those on the ground took it as a seal of approval for their revolt. As one demonstrator said, looking skyward: “You don’t bring down a 30-year dictatorship without a bit of hand-clapping from the gods.” But the turbulent weather turned out to be an omen for something else – another night of bitter disappointment and confusion. Tahrir has been no stranger to mood swings over the past 17 days, but none have been as devastating as this. As darkness fell tens of thousands streamed in to join an ocean of songs, drums and flags; with Mubarak’s resignation expected imminently, it seemed as if the Egyptian capital was gearing up for the biggest street party the Arab world has ever seen. By half past 10, when the president finally shuffled on to the stage, a deathly hush swept the square. Everywhere groups huddled round transistor radios, straining to hear his words. Some thrust camera phones high into the air. “I want to capture the very moment of his departure so I can show my future children,” whispered one. That moment never came. With the crowd desperate to hear what he had to say, Mubarak’s staid nationalistic rhetoric squeaked out of a hundred tiny speakers into near silence. There was no interruption when he called for national unity, and only the faintest of tuts when he tried to invoke the memory of those who had died in Egypt’s anti-government uprising, deaths many in the square attribute to his forces. But then he told the listening protesters that he too was a young man once, and could understand their concerns. In an instant, Tahrir shook with fury. Many took off their shoes and waved them in the air (below). Pockets of protesters launched different chants: “Down, Down, Hosni Mubarak” and “We’re not going until he goes”. Soon they coalesced, and the square spoke as one with a single word. ‘Irhal’ (‘Leave’), it cried. “It’s another piece of empty manipulation, the same thing he’s tried time and time again,” said Fakhr El-Sanhoury, a 26-year-old architect who listened to the speech through his earphones and had the unenviable task of relaying Mubarak’s words to a throng of protesters gathered around him. “This time though it won’t work, this emotional rhetoric will not strike a chord with the Egyptian people.” Behind him, a young man yelled at those around him to march to the presidential palace and tear Mubarak out in person. “The response from the people here is massive and direct,” added El-Sanhoury. “He can be as stubborn as he likes, but the will of the people is clear.” Mubarak’s refusal to step down was all the more painful because of the anticipation that preceded it. “It’s been a day of rumour and conjecture,” one demonstrator, Simon Hanna, said earlier. “People started celebrating here and there when reports came through that Mubarak had gone. Then things calmed down, as it was feared there might be a government trick to put that rumour around. But as the day has gone on, there’s is an increasing feeling that Mubarak really is on the way out. The mood is ecstatic. There’ll be celebrations throughout the night, and tomorrow it will all start again.” It was not to be. Those who had come to be at the heart of a party were well aware that their festivities might end in different ways, even in a military coup. But few thought President Mubarak would still try to tough it out. Many said proudly that whatever happened, they felt a corner had been turned. It would now be impossible for any future leader to treat them, the Egyptian people, the way they had been treated for more than a generation. Nisma Said, a secretary aged 26, said: “Some people here worry about what is going to happen next, but I’m not scared. Just like the Tunisians did to Ben Ali, we will follow their example. We have won, whatever comes next.” In the square, Egyptian flags were everywhere, but Tunisian colours could also be seen in significant numbers for the first time since it all began on 25 January, as if to acknowledge the revolt’s parentage as it reached its conclusion. Amid the excitement, some sat on the grass circle at the centre of Tahrir, wrapped in flags and rocking gently as if they couldn’t quite believe that the autocrat would really go. They turned out to be prescient. Some joined in communal chanting, whilst others sang softly to themselves. As Tahrir began to fill, the crowd flowed freely through its entrances, which at one stage had been violent flashpoints. The army was at the main approach, but soldiers waved people through. Past the checkpoints newcomers weaved through welcoming committees, human tunnels of drums and flags with placards denoting entry to “Liberated Egypt”. Some acknowledged, even at the height of the initial celebrations, that they might be in a fool’s paradise, but the communal instinct was to celebrate and deal with tomorrow when it arrived. Lina Attalah, the managing editor of Egyptian media outlet al-Masri al-Youm, said: “At times Tahrir has felt like a political rally. At other times it felt like a festival. Today the festival has become political, and that is an exciting thing to see.” As she spoke, activists moved through the crowd urging people to stay on regardless of what unfolded over the course of the night, and to return if needs be until the protesters had secured concrete constitutional reform. Mostafa Hussein, a rights activist aged 30, said: “It’s hard to describe my emotions. I have to admit I feel anxious about the future. I worry the military will try to control the country with an iron fist. The only thing I can be certain of is that they won’t open fire and try to kill us en masse.” But he remained optimistic. “What you have to understand is that Egypt changed forever on 25 January. The moment we took to the streets in large numbers and beat back Mubarak’s police, this revolution was triumphant.” “Whatever comes next, the politicians know the people can mobilise in an instant,” Hussein added. “The dismantling of the regime started on that day, and it continues with the strikes that have swept the country recently. We are seeing a withering away of the state as we know it … Beyond that, we just don’t know.” Throughout the day, word came of events around the country which confirmed the overwhelming feeling that Egypt had gone beyond the point of no return. Strikes were multiplying across the country – a bus strike in Cairo, electricity staff and service technicians at the Suez canal, textile factories, steel plants, and hospitals. Wael Eskander, a Copt in his 20s, was insistent Mubarak would be forced out and that the reverberations of his downfall would travel far beyond Tahrir Square and Egypt’s borders. “The impact of what we do here today is going to be huge. When Mubarak falls, every country nearby is going to be shaking.” He left frustrated a few hours later, vowing to return the next day. Around him youths banged drums and chanted: ‘For the sake of the martyrs, come back tomorrow – the revolution continues’. Egypt Hosni Mubarak Middle East Jack Shenker Julian Borger guardian.co.uk