They are not stopping

If Mubarak though that by opening banks and urging everyone to go back to work on Sunday it would stymie the momentum of the protesters, he must have been sorely disappointed. Three of us headed down to the square on Sunday afternoon. Our taxi driver told us how he had been at the square every day since Jan 25, but needed to go back to work to earn some money. He showed us marks on his hands where he had been hit by rocks. When we go to the bridge that leads across the Nile to the square, we were surprised to see the tanks had gone. For the last two weeks, two tanks had cut the entrance to the bridge where soldiers checked IDs. We thought the fact they had gone was a positive sign, that the protesters were winning and the army was now on their side. But we were wrong.

All along the bridge a single file of people snaked. Hundreds of people waiting; patiently waiting, laughing, holding bags of food and  medicine for those who have not left the square since Jan 25. As we moved our way towards the entrance, the crowd thickened and we saw where those two tanks had gone. There were now three tanks and an armoured personnel carrier blocking the entrance to the square. It took us maybe half an hour to get from outside into what felt like a holding pen. Tanks on one side barricading the entrance to the square and barbed wire behind us and about 500 people in between. For anyone whose ever been in a crowd/protest, this is probably the scariest moment, where more and more people pour into a restricted area, where protesters are relentlessly chanting, "We won't go until Mubarak goes", ignoring the army shouting through bullhorns; where the soldiers, standing on top of their tanks, young and armed, looking jittery can't control the crowd; more people pouring in, pushing towards towards the entrance ...

But as has happened every day here, Egyptians have surprised me, both the protesters and the army. One protester hoisted his two-year old girl up on to a tank and the soldiers loved it.

So after about an hour and a half, we finally pushed our way  through into the square. It was incredible, the number of people in there.

If Saturday was like a carnival, with people sitting around and chatting and eating and chanting. Sunday was like a football match .... the chanting didn't stop, flags waving, fists pumping n the air; anger and passion. There was no where to stand, or to sit, people filled every space.

There were Muslims and Christians sitting together, Christians standing in a protective circle around Muslims as they prayed.

Families; husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, so many children. Conservative Muslims with long beards and tight hijabs, the protester cut across all social classes, religions and genders. Tuesday, Sunday and Thursday have been designated "one-million" days, and it certainly looked like they had achieved that.

I stopped to talk to one man, Ahmed. He told me he had been at work that day as a supervisor of a university hotel and had come down to the protest when he finished. He asked me what I thought of the protests and where I was from, and when I told him the UK, he said "Please tell the people of England that the people in Egypt want freedom.

"We do not eat Kentucky Fried Chicken (state media has been trying to downplay the economic demands of the protesters by saying they eat KFC so can't be that bad off). We eat foul (beans) some bread (at this point another protester gave him a bit of his bread) and very little water. Please tell people of England that."

We talked a bit longer, but I did not get out my notebook. With so many people, it was one of those days where the atmosphere could change on a dime. I moved away and found a quiet place on a step and pulled out the tiniest scrap of paper I could find in my bag and started to write. Two feet appeared in my line of vision, and they seemed to stay there for a while. I looked up, and a guy was watching me write. I smiled, he smiled back, but still, I thought ...

Unlike on Saturday, I hadn't seen any one with notebooks out. There was a radio crew or two, and a few foreigners wandering around, but perhaps we all had the same thoughts ... today, was not the day to make yourself known as a journalist.

It is true that reporters are still being harassed. But mostly they are wondering around areas that are controlled by pro-Mubarak supporters when they get attacked.

Back at the hotel, it was interesting to see how many journalists were checking out ... do they think that the story is over? Today showed me that it certainly isn't.