Egypt’s economic woes lure digital nomads – but cast others out to sea | Global development

Bordered by the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, Egypt is a country blessed with many miles of coastline, and its resorts have long been tourist favourites. But in a country in which the divide between rich and poor has always been stark, Egypt’s recent economic woes have had a seismic effect on society – and nowhere illustrates that better than the fortunes of those making their way to the country’s two coasts.

Along the Red Sea’s Gulf of Aqaba, the once-quiet fishing outpost of Dahab has become a haven for well-off young digital nomads. Its warm turquoise waters and hipster vibes have transformed the small town into a popular diving resort, making it the perfect location for those looking for a more flexible work-life balance.

“I fell in love with Dahab,” says Natalia*, a Moldovan spurred into a lifestyle change by the Covid-19 pandemic and who now calls Dahab home while working on her PhD. “When you’re here, you experience a sense of harmony with nature.”

Tamer*, a 25-year-old from Cairo, works from Dahab as a freelance translator. “Life becomes more affordable” outside the capital, says Tamer, who asked for his real name not to be used as he relies on the illegal currency exchange market. “Some months, I can even put money aside,” he adds.

The number of digital nomads rose sharply during the pandemic, when workplaces made the necessary switch to remote working and white-collar workers were suddenly released from geographical confines. In the intervening years, rising rents and the cost of living crisis in many countries have also driven out young professionals, and changing cities or even countries becomes a more affordable option.

In Egypt, the exchange rate makes the country especially attractive to anyone paid in dollars or euros, which often applies to foreigners who can apply for a work permit or those natives who work with international companies.

But millions of Egyptians are struggling in a stricken economy. Since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, three consecutive devaluations in 2022 have halved the Egyptian pound’s value. Officially, the dollar is worth about EGP30, but a severe shortage of foreign currency has revived a thriving parallel market, where the rate is up to EGP60 to the dollar.

Hit by record high inflation rates of close to 30%, the living standards of most of Egypt’s 105 million people dropped sharply, pushing thousands to make the dangerous journey to Europe by sea. From 2020, the Arab world’s most populous country had become the ninth-highest source of asylum applications to the European Union.

Meanwhile, digital nomads who are paid in dollars have found these economic circumstances ideal for enjoying year-round sunshine on its pristine beaches. “The past year has been a gamechanger,” says Natalia. “Internet cutoffs are now a thing of the past; several new co-working spaces opened up.

“Even if you encounter issues with wifi, 4G is very affordable, especially if you’re paid in US dollars,” she says.

Ali al-Edreesy, professor of economics at the Arab Academy for Science, Technology and Maritime Transport, says: “There is no crisis without winners and losers; it’s inaccurate to claim that everyone loses in a crisis.”

What needs to be assessed, he says, is “whether the negative impacts on a group outweigh the positive impacts on another”.

According to the World Bank, nearly a third of Egypt’s population fell below the national poverty line in 2019, most of whom live along the overcrowded, impoverished Nile delta, with overstretched services.

Edreesy says poor economic prospects have pushed more people to leave Egypt, many choosing to overlook the hurdles of illegal immigration.

In November 2022, life changed for Samir*, who is not using his real name while Italian authorities process his asylum request. He had journeyed from his home in Belbes in the Nile delta province of Sharqiya, to New Alamein on Egypt’s north coast to start work as a mechanic. When he got there, the 24-year-old was told there was no longera job for him.

“I had nowhere to go,” Samir says. A friend in Italy told him that a bus of would-be migrants was leaving Alexandria for Salloum, near the Libyan border. Having seen many youths from his home town make a successful start in Italy, Samir had been contemplating the journey for a while and the phone call felt like a “lifeline”.

The bus travelled along mountain trails to avoid checkpoints on its way to Salloum. There, he paid smugglers an initial fee of EGP40,000 (about £1,000) before joining a group of people, mainly women and children.

“We walked to Libya. I had no other choice: I had paid a large sum of money so I was committed,” says Samir.

Finally, the group reached the border area between Egypt and Libya. With someone else’s child in his arms, and following the smugglers’ instructions, Samir sprinted several hundred metres through a minefield until he reached the barbed wire marking Libyan territory. “That’s when bullets from Libya’s border patrol rained on us,” he says.

Exhausted and terrified, Samir immediately surrendered. He and the others were arrested and taken to a nearby checkpoint, but they bribed the border guard to let them go for 1,000 Libyan dinars (about £160). After a few days in Libya, Samir met another smuggler who took him to a nearby warehouse, where illegal migrants were kept.

“I spent the worst 20 days of my life in that small warehouse,” he says. “Thousands of people squashed together with little food and water. Any sort of objection to the conditions was met with violence. A man who asked for more water was thrown into a well to die.”

Samir was then packed into a crowded truck and dropped at the coast near the port of Tobruk, where the self-styled Libyan National Army of the warlord Khalifa Haftar, who nominally controls eastern Libya, has cracked down on people-smuggling. From there, Samir and about 700 other would-be migrants scaled a mountain to reach a point on the coast where a boat was waiting.

“When people fell off the mountain to their death, the smugglers did nothing to help,” he says. “Hundreds of us boarded a boat barely fit for 50 people.”

After two sleepless days at sea, they reached the shores of Italy. Samir surrendered to the police and was housed in a specialist refugee camp. He has been there for almost a year, awaiting a decision on his refugee status.

Samir is one of 21,753 Egyptians who reached Europe in 2022 – when the numbers of Egyptians arriving in Europe surpassed even those from countries devastated by war such as Syria and Afghanistan.

“It’s not solely economic drivers; there are also cultural aspects at play,” says Ibrahim Adam, a civil society worker in Tattoun, near Faiyum, south of Cairo, where many young people are tempted to try illegal migration.

“The youth here see young people who migrated illegally, living well, dressed nicely, and integrated into Italian society, and they think they could do it as well,” Adam says. “It has become a sort of get-rich-quick scheme that they’re falling for.”

Adam is affiliated to the Tattoun Community Development Association, which introduces vulnerable young people to the government-run Small and Medium Enterprises Development Agency (Smeda) to look at alternative ways to make a living, and where they receive support for their project ideas and marketing, management training, as well as financial support and funding at lower interest rates.

“Some people respond to our work while the majority don’t,” says Adam. “However, it’s crucial to continue awareness efforts since it remains the only solution.

For Edreesy, however, economic factors are crucial. He believes the solution lies primarily in “addressing inflation and stabilising the exchange rate”. He says that “only then will the market begin to experience a certain level of revitalisation that would solve many of Egypt’s problems”.

But Adam points out: “Even when the dollar equated to less than 15 Egyptian pounds, young people still resorted to migration. The issue lies in the culture.”

* Full names have not been used to protect their identity