Press Association/Benjamin Girette. All rights reserved.Twelve year-old Sameh, a native of el-Minya in Upper Egypt, had come to Cairo during his school holidays to work there as a kiosk vendor and help ease the financial strain on his family back home. I lived on a road in the downtown neighbourhood Bab el Louq, where scores of people like Sameh from Minya worked in the 24-hour roadside kushks or kiosks, as bakers, making food deliveries or in the failing tourism sector. Most had enough for day to day life, but if one fell sick, he was entirely dependent on the goodwill of his employer to pay for treatment. There was no future, just daily chores, cracking jokes and a night time spliff.
Sameh was a bright and curious boy. Being in the capital for the first time, he soaked up new impressions, his eyes wide open. Perhaps I was the first German or even European he had met. I answered his questions about Germany, the German language, schools, animals, birds in particular. In the spring of 2011 he asked me what I did for a living. When I answered that I worked with refugees he looked at me without comprehension.
The word refugee, in Egyptian Arabic lagi', is not commonly known in Egypt. The compound lagi'in siyasiyin, political refugees, is more likely to hold some meaning. I was at a loss trying to explain what a refugee is, and elaborate on the legal concept. My friend Sim Sim, who worked in the kushk where Sameh and I were sitting, weighed in. "Refugees are people like you and me, Sameh. They need to leave their home, because they cannot live there anymore. They go somewhere else to look for a new life." I explained that most of the people I work with were from Sudan, Somalia and Iraq, where there is war.
