After
countless generations not venturing far from the comforting embrace of the Nile valley, why have millions of Egyptians have made
other countries their home?
February 2008
Am Mohsen, the local
neighbourhood barber, greeted me warmly and we sat for a chat fuelled by
high-octane Egyptian coffee. “Don’t they have hairdressers in Belgium?” he asked me as he eyed up
my unkempt Afro.
As his scissor-hand was obviously itching and
restless to set to work taming the growth, I compromised by asking him for a
shave.
“I want to open up a smart hairdressing salon
for men and women in Belgium.
What do you think?” he asked. His question somewhat surprised me, since Am Mohsen – with his constant, unfailing routines – has run
his little shop, stuck in a decades-old time warp, for as long as I or anyone
in the area can remember.
With his razor hovering around my lathered
neck, and my not wishing to get too close a shave, I decided it was prudent not
to disappoint him too suddenly! “Well, it’s an idea. But why do you want to
leave Egypt?”
“After a lifetime here, I want to get a taste
of how they live outside! So many people are leaving the country, why shouldn’t
I try my luck?”
Am Mohsen had a
point. Every time I visit Egypt,
I realise that more of the people I know have left the country. Some have
headed for the regular Egyptian destinations, such as Europe, the United States and the Arabian
Gulf. Others have gone to more exotic destinations, such as Latin
America, sub-Saharan Africa, the former SovietRepublics and even China.
Luckily, my last visit at the end of December
coincided with that of several of my friends. We stayed with Hatem, one of my oldest and dearest friends, who was back
in Egypt,
with his Italian girlfriend, for a few months to spend time with his mother. A
diplomat’s son, Hatem has spent a good part of his
life outside Egypt
and has never entirely settled in there.
“The thing that repels me the most with
Egyptians is their hyper-subjectivity,” Hatem
admitted. “What draws me to this city is the utter sensual overdrive of Cairo, the very organicity of it, always.”
Hatem, who has spent the last few years flitting
between Europe, South Asia, the Arab world and Egypt, does not yet know where fate
will land him. “Settling down, [in terms of] geography, is beyond me, though India
remains dominant.”
His younger brother, Karim,
who recently got married to his Egyptian sweetheart, moved with his wife, Hanaa, to Costa
Rica where they are both doing post-graduate
studies. “The nature here is great but the culture super bland,” he told me.
“I left because I realised people did not treat
each other as humans ought to… because it’s overpopulated… because I always
feel intimidated by Big Brother,” he explained.
Ahmed, a good friend who used to teach English
with me at the British Council, was also visiting Egypt while we were there. Over
drinks and ‘mazzas’ at Estoril, an old-world downtown bistro popular with
intellectuals and artists, we caught up.
Ahmed, who decided to move to Paris in 2001 with his French wife, admitted
that he was quite torn by the idea of leaving. “I left Egypt for personal reasons… [but] I was at a point in my life, though, where I wanted to
experience living in another country so I didn't mind leaving.”
Ahmed, who grew up in West Africa where his
father was in business, felt that he could’ve lived in Egypt for a few years
more before he would feel restless and, being an Alexandrian, he was enjoying
making Cairo his home. “Living in France has its advantages and disadvantages:
leaving friends behind in Egypt was a hard decision, especially as I feel that
it’s not very easy to make friends here,” he admitted.
Like Ahmed, I also had a good life in Egypt,
despite the relative alienation my alternative lifestyle and views caused. When
outside Egypt, I am a
foreigner but, in Egypt,
I am also something of a foreigner.
A couple of years before we left, I phased myself out of teaching and into journalism and for my
last year or so in the country I was working as a correspondent for a leading
international news agency. I also enjoyed a vibrant social life among Cairo’s liberal,
progressive and permissive subculture.
Having grown up in the UK and blessed and cursed with a wonder lust, I
was keen to move away from Cairo
eventually. However, our decision to depart was speeded up by the fact that we
had a choice of either staying in Egypt
for several years or leaving in 2001, and so we decided to depart and move to
my-then-girlfriend-and-now wife’s home country, Belgium.
Here in Belgium, there are almost no
Egyptians. Perhaps the biggest expatriate Egyptian population in Europe is in
the UK,
where hundreds of thousands of Egyptians live. My father, who has lived in the UK for
three decades, used to head an association of Egyptian expatriates.
Some friends have left Egypt in the hope
of making the world a better place. I have Egyptian friends doing aid and
development work in Africa and Asia. Unusually
for Egypt, one female Cairo acquaintance, Yasmin, is
working in development in Kenya.
Lobna, another female Cairo friend, is a doctor who has travelled
widely to help the needy. “I joined the Ford Foundation’s Cairo Office in 2002
working as a programme associate in reproductive health,” she explained. “This
introduced me to work on HIV/AIDS, so I happened to travel a lot around Africa.”
Lobna is currently in Germany working on her PhD and
raising her young daughter with her German husband. But she hopes to return to Egypt
in a few years.
Although many of my friends and myself have
left Egypt
for lifestyle and qualitative reasons, there is also the age-old economic
driver. A friend who grew up down the street from my Cairo family home also happened to be in
town. Like old times, we stood out on the street under one of our apartment
buildings chatting while kneeling against a parked car.
He told me about life in Saudi Arabia, where he and his wife
were now living. “It’s materially comfortable in Saudi but it’s still so hard
to live there, especially for my wife,” he explained. “I have to admit that the
intolerant brand of Islam they practise there has put me off religion.”
“But what can we do? We need the money,” he
shrugged.
That said, other parts of the Gulf – such as
the United Arab Emirates
– are easier to live in, friends tell me. Maged, my
old flat mate in Cairo said: “What drew me to Dubai, like most people,
is money.”
“Dubai
is not a place that many people can ever refer to as home as it is very
superficial and ‘plastic’. But, to be honest, I currently don’t have a
vision... Ya’ani, if I find a job in Afghanistan
with good money and a good career, I will move instantly,” he continued
Sherif, an old college friend, told me
that he had moved to Kuwait
because he couldn’t find a decently paid job in Egypt, but was pleasantly surprised
by the treatment.
“Locals here are number one… and this is to be
respected compared to some countries where foreigners, especially Europeans or
Americans, come first,” he said. “Here you know your right and your duties. It
is very organised. At the end of the day, if you
respect the law, you live well and you enjoy the facilities.”
“As for Egypt, I love it, but I feel
irritated by the continuous struggle, nothing is easy, even the simplest
needs,” he lamented.
Although I had lost touch with Sherif, we renewed our acquaintance through Facebook. Most of
the Egyptian friends I have managed to get back in touch with through that
online social utility are no longer based in Egypt.
“Well, Khaled, you
wanted to know the reason why I left Egypt. It is very simple. I LOVE
CHINESE FOOD,” Bassem, another college friend, joked
from Beijing.
“Seriously, there are many reasons: a lousy
economy, lousy discrimination, a lousy political situation, a lousy working
environment and [poor] salaries,” he counted off. When I probed on the question
of discrimination, Bassem, who is a Christian,
replied: “Religious discrimination is a major thing. But the social one and the
‘wasta culture’ are surely causing a lot of
desperation.”
In Egypt, the culture of string
pulling, ‘wasta’, is widespread and, hence, known by
many colourful names, including, for some bizarre reason, ‘kousa’
(courgette). People resort to it for many things, from finishing off paperwork
to getting a job, and people, like me, who refuse to utilise it often have to
jump through hoops.
Nicholas, another old college friend who
immigrated to Canada in 2000
to join his Canadian-Egyptian wife, disagreed with Bassem
about the extent of religious discrimination in Egypt.
“I consider my immigration to be for economic reasons…
and I have arguments by the hour with people who bad mouth Egypt, for honestly, I have nothing
bad to say about the people or the country. It’s not perfect, but it's not the
hell that some of the Copts here would have you believe,” he opined.
While there is a certain level of disguised and
even blatant religious discrimination in Egypt, and occasional clashes
occur, most Egyptians see themselves as Egyptians first. As I recall, the only
reaction that Nicholas’s Christianity elicited at uni
was owing to the unfortunate coincidence that his nickname sounded like the
Arabic slang word for “fuck”, which provided hours of entertainment for the
student body.
Another old college friend, Amr,
who moved to neighbouring America
in the mid-1990s, sees his presence in New
York as far more than simply economic. In fact, when
we spoke on the phone, he sounded so American in outlook that I hardly
recognised the laid-back Egyptian youth I once knew.
“When I moved here, it blew my mind. The
constitution and the equality of everyone here before the law makes me want to spend the rest of my life here,” he told
me. “At first, I missed my friends and social circle, but I have now built a
good life here.”
And this exodus of Egyptians is not just among
my friends. According to the last census, in 2006, nearly 4 million Egyptians,
from all walks of life, now live abroad. The true figure is probably much
higher, because many Egyptians who spend some time in Egypt or are abroad illegally are
still officially domiciled in the country.
Egyptians are traditionally one of the world’s most settled and sedentary peoples and have, since
antiquity, held the belief that there is no place like home. The lush Nile valley, buffered by the desert and the sea, has
given Egyptians a kind of island mentality, despite the country’s central
geopolitical and cultural position. Egypt is endearingly known as ‘Umm
el-Dunya’ (Mother of the World) and ‘el-Mahrousa’ (The Divinely Guarded).
The increasing mobility of Egyptians in recent
decades has triggered a lot debate between the pragmatists and realists, and
the romantic guardians of Egyptian pride, who accuse Egyptians abroad of
treachery and ingratitude.
But mobility has done Egyptians and Egypt
a lot of good, and some bad. On the plus side, labour, particularly at the
educated end of the market, has become a major Egyptian export, with
remittances from Egyptians abroad rising constantly. They currently stand at
over $5 billion. The flight of millions of workers also reduces the fierce
competition for jobs at home.
On the downside, Egypt is suffering a massive brain
drain as its brightest young seek fortune and self-actualisation elsewhere. But
Egypt
has launched a number of efforts to transform this haemorrhaging into a “brain gain”.
One youth-led Egyptian NGO has launched an innovative programme called Egyptian Expatriates for
Development.
