I did not know Cairo well. For me-the young woman coming from North Sinai-the capital had always been a sprawling giant. I heard about it in news bulletins and saw it in films and television series, yet it remained distant, like another planet orbiting a world far removed from our quiet coastal life.
My visits were rare and occasion-based: a brief escape for leisure, a chance to buy what our city lacked, or simply a break from the monotony of the shore into the restless energy of a city that never sleeps.
But during one of those trips, as I wandered through Downtown Cairo, I sensed for the first time that the city had changed. Its familiar face was no longer the same; a quiet shade of sadness had settled over it. There was a new presence filling its spaces-one I had not encountered before: Sudanese people.
Their faces appeared everywhere: in the metro, across neighborhoods and shops, in public parks. Sitting, working, or standing with gazes that carried stories I did not yet know how to read. They felt like unfamiliar mosaic pieces suddenly fused into the city’s canvas, carrying with them hot winds from the south—scented with war and the harshness of exile.
I found myself recalling what I had read in the political theory books I studied. Sudan was no longer just a neighboring country; it had become a living laboratory for concepts of statehood, sovereignty, forced migration, and shared humanity.
Here, I pause with the political theorist Hannah Arendt and her reflections on statelessness-how losing the state means losing one’s place in the world. That meaning felt embodied in the man sitting on the sidewalk; perhaps once an employee or merchant in Khartoum, now reduced to just another number in a brutal refugee crisis.
Moving Souls and New Maps
When I began to look into official figures, I discovered that the Sudanese presence in Egypt was not entirely new. According to estimates by the International Organization for Migration, around four million Sudanese were living in Egypt as of August 2022. Most had resided there for years, arriving for education, work, or due to cultural and geographic proximity.
Approximately 56% were concentrated in Cairo, Giza, Alexandria, Damietta, and Dakahlia-areas offering employment networks, opportunities, and social connections.
However, the war that erupted in Sudan in April 2023 upended this reality. In less than two years, nearly 1.5 million additional Sudanese were displaced to Egypt, according to Egyptian government data. By early 2025, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees had registered around 673,000 Sudanese refugees in Egypt-a figure that includes only those formally registered, leaving many others outside official records.
These numbers are not mere statistics; they reflect a new humanitarian, social, and political weight placed upon the body of the city.
Egypt and Sudan: Brotherhood and Constraints
Years ago, Egypt and Sudan signed the Four Freedoms Agreement, granting freedom of movement, residence, work, and property ownership to citizens of both countries. Yet its implementation has remained uneven, shaped by political, security, and economic considerations.
Following the influx of Sudanese after 2023, Cairo appeared to recalibrate its approach. In the summer of 2024, Egypt issued special decisions for Sudanese nationals, offering residency and employment facilitations compared to other nationalities-for example, exempting Sudanese workers in the private sector from work permit fees.
The agreement exists, but its application remains inconsistent,
subject to political, security, and economic considerations.
Nonetheless, formal requirements still apply: any foreigner in Egypt must hold a valid passport, proof of residence (a notarized lease or recent utility bill), and a legal purpose for stay (work, study, or family reunification), supported by documentation.
Compared to others, however, Sudanese nationals continue to receive relatively preferential treatment, often framed as “historic brothers.”
This sense of brotherhood has gone beyond rhetoric. In September 2025, Egypt announced the waiver of residency overstay fines for Sudanese wishing to return home for six months (until March 2026). Free train trips from Cairo to Aswan were also organized for voluntary returnees, with thousands benefiting from these initiatives.
The Social Imaginary of Sudanese People
How do Sudanese people themselves view Egypt? Here, the concept of the social imaginary becomes relevant-not merely media-generated images or political discourse, but also the inherited values and cultural symbols shaping collective perceptions of the “other.”
According to Canadian writer and explorer Paul Kahn, the social imaginary consists of the underlying assumptions embedded in our minds that shape how we interpret what happens around us in social space.
Historically, many Sudanese have viewed Egypt as “Umm al-Dunya”-the Mother of the World-and a natural refuge, given cultural proximity, shared ties to the Nile, and a long history of political interconnection. This perception is not entirely misplaced, though it does not negate the universal challenges faced by people everywhere.
For generations, Cairo represented education, work, and even tourism for Sudanese families. Many spent holidays in Aswan or studied at Egyptian universities. Some senior Sudanese military figures—including General Abdel Fattah al-Burhan—received training in Egyptian military academies.
What Does It Mean to Lose One’s State?
Hannah Arendt answered simply: “It means losing one’s place in the world.”
The mass displacement after 2023, however, generated a new layer of perceptions. In media interviews, some Sudanese spoke of a “cultural shock.” One remarked that Egyptians are socially “closed-door,” in contrast to Sudanese openness and hospitality. Another observed that Egyptians structure their lives strictly around income, while Sudanese tend to spend more spontaneously.
These observations may seem minor, yet they reveal subtle tensions between historical expectations and everyday realities.
At the same time, others expressed deep gratitude toward Egypt despite the hardships. Photographs taken at train stations showed Sudanese children wearing caps reading “Thank you, Egypt,” reflecting appreciation for the humanitarian cooperation they experienced-whether through free trains or official exemptions.
Cairo as a Mirror of Crisis
Cairo is not neutral in this scene. It has become a mirror reflecting Sudan’s crisis. Anyone observing public parks, metro stations, or popular markets can see how the city itself has turned into a laboratory of forced displacement.
Sudanese people-carrying their stories, memories, and shattered dreams-have become part of Cairo’s daily life.
Just as Egypt is affected by what unfolds in Sudan-politically, economically, and in terms of security-it is also impacted within its social fabric. The challenge is twofold: preserving values of solidarity and fraternity, while confronting economic and service-related pressures caused by the influx of hundreds of thousands of newcomers from the south, or from the eastern borders amid the genocidal war against Palestinians.
The Human Between the State and Alienation
Beneath all these figures and policies, the human question remains: What does it mean to lose one’s state?
As Arendt put it, it means losing one’s place in the world. The man who once worked in Khartoum, or the woman who taught at a university somewhere, now finds themselves in Cairo reduced to names in government queues or numbers in UN reports.
Yet alongside this reality exist small stories of resistance: families trying to rebuild their lives, children enrolling in schools, young people finding work in workshops and small shops.
Though seemingly fleeting, these stories signal the determination of Sudanese people to transform temporary refuge into a space of survival and dignity-despite the hardships of a collapsing homeland or an alternative one that demands constant adaptation.
Overall, when I recall that first moment of seeing Sudanese people in Cairo’s streets, I now realize it was not merely a “new presence” in the city, but a sign of deeper transformations.
Cairo is no longer only a city of Egyptians; it has become a space encompassing a wounded south-women and men searching simply for a safe haven.
In this entanglement, Sudanese people in Cairo are no longer just refugees. They are a mirror exposing the fragility of the international system itself: the fragility of the state, the fragility of borders, and the fragility of the human being when they lose their place in the world.
