Evacuation

Very early on Wednesday morning, a friend in Bahrain called my mobile. "They're going to clear the Roundabout," she said. "The Embassy are advising people who don't have to be here to leave. Could be time to go."

I dragged myself out of bed to make a cup of tea, still uncertain of whether we should leave. As I stood at the kettle there were cries of "God is great!" and the gunfire started. Lots of it. And the sound of tear gas canisters exploding. And more gunfire. It was indeed time to go. "Don't go outside!" I yelled at the kids and promptly booked us flights.

Instructions came from Ian's office that it was not safe to leave the compound. I ran up to the roof and saw a huge cloud of black smoke rising from Pearl Roundabout and Apache helicopters circling overhead. There were several explosions which I later learned were gas canisters, which had been used for cooking by the protesters, exploding. And after an hour, just a deathly quiet.

As I packed suitcases for me and the girls, Ian was on the landline trying to sort out work contingencies: mobile coverage had been cut and the internet was painfully slow. He, along with most other fathers, has stayed to work.

We set off a short time later for the airport. At the end of our road was a checkpoint with a tank, an armoured personnel carrier and a rather intimidating looking policeman in a black balaclava and mask with a rifle slung over his shoulders. He politely told us we could not pass and would have to take a detour to the airport. We passed a further three such checkpoints before arriving. You could count the number of cars on the normally busy motorway on one hand.

There is now a tense calm in Bahrain. Troops are no longer on the streets, but police checkpoints are everywhere. Malls and restaurants are beginning to re-open for parts of the day, although some areas are subject to curfews. Schools are to remain closed until at least 27 March.

So in the meantime the girls and I are in the UK with my folks - an unscheduled family visit. No gunshots, no helicopters, just calm. Last month I helped Isabelle with a project on World War II evacuees. Little did I know that a short time later we would be evacuees ourselves.