by Ahmed Shafiq
CAIRO, May 26 (Xinhua) -- It was a sunlit afternoon, a gentle breeze taking the edge off Cairo's summer heat. A Palestinian, a Sudanese, a Syrian, and an Egyptian sat together at a wooden table in a corner of a traditional cafe in Maadi, the city receding softly around us. The steam from our tea mingled with our memories of home.
Above our heads, a television screen mounted on an ancient wall blared news of the miseries devouring the Middle East: the U.S.-Israel conflict with Iran sending shockwaves across the region, the smoldering ruins of Gaza, the wounded streets in Beirut, and the relentless violence in Sudan.
Yet here, in a paradox almost too stark to take in, my Sudanese neighbor, Mohammed Salama, sipped his tea slowly, savoring the stillness of the moment. My Syrian friend, Khaled Walid, played with his young son, who knows nothing of war except through stories. And my Egyptian neighbor, Mohammed Ashraf, cracked jokes with his signature laugh, which seemed to melt away mountains of worry into the afternoon air.
We are all survivors of war, and here in Egypt, each of us has found something increasingly rare in this part of the world: calm.
In Egypt, you do not feel like a refugee, a displaced person, or just a number in an international relief file. Here, you are simply a human being looking for safety, and you find it in the ordinary details of the day.
I carry in my veins both Palestinian and Egyptian blood -- two identities that blend resilience with belonging. But my heaviest memories belong to Gaza, the enclave that taught me the meaning of both patience and pain. I left the strip in 2014, after years of covering war as a field journalist, convinced that my children deserved a life in which their laughter would be louder than explosions.
I witnessed dreams crumble under the weight of rubble. Today in Egypt, I write stories about life, instead of death. Watching my daughter study in peace, I realize that my courage to leave Gaza was for this exact moment.
Egypt has long been among the first destinations for anyone in the region seeking refuge, not just Arabs, but also Africans fleeing civil wars and famines. Despite my unceasing ache for Gaza, I am grateful for every moment I spend here.
When war erupted in Gaza in 2023, my children were trapped there and lived through true horror for months under bombardment, before the Egyptian government evacuated them on their Egyptian citizenship rights. They are now among the nearly 100,000 Palestinians who have found in this country a safe shore.
Beside me sat Salama, a man in his 50s who fled Khartoum three years ago when its once beautiful streets turned into senseless battlegrounds. He now works as a mall supervisor in Cairo, while his three children attend Egyptian schools alongside their Egyptian peers.
"Egypt did not just give me a legal residency," said Salama, his misty eyes reflecting memories of his homeland. "It gave me a real home where my children do not tremble at the sound of gunfire, and where they do not fear an unknown tomorrow."
Across the table sat Walid, who arrived 13 years ago as a young man in his 20s, fleeing the destruction of Syria. Today, he runs a small business, has a wife and children, and has built a life that feels solid. While millions of Syrians made for Europe, he chose Egypt. "The Egyptian people are generous by nature," he said, "and do not look at you as a stranger, but as a brother."
Despite the economic pressures that weigh on everyone, Walid still believes that Egypt remains a "blessed land" where opportunities are available to those who strive. "I have melted into this place," he said, pointing toward his neighborhood. "I know the names of my neighbors' neighbors. No one asks me where I came from anymore."
Ashraf listened, looking up at the television screen now and then. "The safety we live in is not luck; it is the result of wise policy and a strong state," he said quietly.
Then he turned to us, a laugh breaking across his face to soften what his eyes could not hide. "I will miss you both when you leave," he said. "But I pray that moment will come soon, because it will mean your countries are ready to have you back." ■
