"If he's sticking to the presidential chair, then I'm glueing myself to the ground," said law student Zaki Ahmad as he walked to Tahrir Square, a tattered backpack bulging behind his right shoulder. "There's no getting rid of us," said a young woman. "He sticks, we stick. He walks, we walk. His is one-man's stubbornness; ours is a nation's determination!"

“The Friday of Challenge” had begun.

The morning “trickle” soon increased into a stream as the streets and pavements increasingly filled up with Tahrir-bound people; men were almost running to get a spot for Friday prayers.

Hours later, people were flocking to Tahrir Square in batches. Women, men, children and even babies were all part of the “Tahrir (liberation) pilgrimage,” as one young family — Raouf and Muna, parents of five-year-old Zaki and nine-month-old Shireen — put it.

"We've been taking turns over the past weeks to join the Tahrir protests," said Raouf, gently freeing his glasses from Shireen's dimpled fist, his left arm holding her close to his chest. “We couldn't both come everyday with our little ones.”

“This isn't just about us, our lives, our present,” said Marriam. “It is for them,” she said while smiling and nodding her head toward both her children. “Zaki, tell the lady what we're doing at Tahrir Square,” Marriam asked her son, his cheeks showing two stars in the national colors of red, white and black.

“To free Masr (Egypt) from the bad people!” little Zaki shouted, while talking more to the little Egyptian flag he was waving than to us.

Nearing Tahrir Square’s entrance, which were made of checkpoints defined with army tanks, people dug out their ID cards and passports. Like the day before, women were directed to the left while men kept to the right. One by one, the lined-up civilian organizers — women in my case — carried out their delegated tasks. All smiling and friendly, the first would check your ID, while the second would search your bag and the third would frisk you. A few steps later and you would be inside Tahrir Square — the place where history has been made.

One could barely walk in the square. The Haj-like masses, the front almost inseparable from the back, almost sticking to each other moved staggeringly throughout the square.

Numerous podiums — the pharmacists' podium, the vets' podium, the lawyers' podium — stood at various locations, with their speakers, audiences and banners.

Men and women wearing signs expressing their points of view — a written statement, a drawing or a cartoon — also paraded among the protesters causing people to sporadically stop “in their tracks” to read and photograph the displays.

Multiple giant stereo systems shook the air with patriotic songs. Moved by the familiar musical favorites, the crowds would break out jointly, singing along.

High morale, up-lifted spirits and confident hope filled the air. But restlessness and speculation also whispered beneath the surface.

After Thursday's letdown, the pressure had increased and the consequences were also expected to escalate.

The day went by with people snacking on grilled corn-on-the-cob, popcorn and grilled sweet potatoes. As the hours passed and the sun gave way to the night's chillier temperatures, thousands of people stood their ground with the thick human river flowing out of Tahrir equal to the masses that were coming in.

A relentless chorus of chants and slogan shouting prevailed, but when the time for the vice president's announcement arrived the crowds fell silent. Having had their hopes tampered with by Mubarak's third speech on Thursday night, many were unwilling to be as hopeful or attentive.

Collective irritability was noticeable as Omar Suleiman's voice came through the speakers.

" (shut up)!" hissed a woman beside me to some young men. "People want to hear."

"(talk, talk and talk)," replied a young man. "This is what they're good for! Why should I give them my ears!"

The woman's response was never heard. 

While Suleiman was still in mid-speech, Tahrir Square suddenly erupted in joy: People all around were screaming, shouting, jumping up and down, laughing and crying, and grabbing and hugging each other. For many, it took some minutes to actually know what had happened.

“My heart stopped when first I heard the screaming,” said Nisreen Hasan who was laughing. “And I started shrieking, what happened? What is happening?”

Time stood still in Tahrir Square as it was swallowed in massive joy that soon gushed out onto the streets.

" (Freedom! Freedom! Freedom!)"

"Hold your head high! '' (You're Egyptian)! Hold your head high! '' (we removed Husni)!"

Cars had stopped mid-street, their honking joining the screaming, shouting and blaring music. People jumped out of their cars hugging and dancing.

Egyptian flags were everywhere, either carried and waved by people or attached to vehicles.

“It wasn't Mubarak who heard us!” shouted a woman simultaneously smiling and sobbing. “This was God! He heard us! This is God's Hand! Rulers may have power. But they forget God is Almighty!”

The jubilant momentum continued. People celebrated hard and strong throughout the night, gushing joyously into the early hours of dawn and only fading a few hours short of the next sunrise.

Hours later, the bustle of traffic and people — which had been suspended for weeks — sprang back to life once again, awakening to a new day.

A new day, a new Cairo, a new nation and a new Egypt!