Nader Habib considers the mixed bag of jobs with which the employment market has provided his class I remember my graduation ceremony at the Sadat Academy for Management Sciences, in 2000. Hope was in the air: the prospect of happiness, and a sure-footed sense of achievement. We stood and listened as the dean of the faculty, Mohamed Kamel Marwan, explained how we were on the threshold of a new life -- a bright future awaited us. It was all we needed to know, and the black caps went flying. Five years later I'm walking through the gates of my alma mater to attend my first class re-union. My footsteps are no longer as sprightly as they were when I graduated. I am fat, balding and married. I look around, desperate for a familiar face. Eventually I notice the guy who used to walk into lectures late to avoid being asked questions, and the girl who used to bring sweets; today she comes empty handed. And there is Michael Safwat, who specialised in bank management -- one of those students who work so hard everyone just knows they will have a bright future. His one dream -- to work for a big-name bank. And it turns out that, short of the necessary connections, his dream was proving impossible; he ended up taking a job at a small private office instead. "But I was very badly treated; eventually I could not take it and I left," he confides. Today, Safwat is rearing chickens with his cousin in Fayoum. Mohamed Salah, who graduated from the computer department, appears with a little girl balanced on his shoulder. I remember he loved his town of Damietta and hated having to live in Cairo for the duration of his degree; we would never hand in an exam paper before comparing answers. He is back in his home town, working an 8-to-4 job; life may not be exciting, but he was never one for the hustle and bustle of the big city. The faces kept appearing in quick succession, on and on. Some have opted for further study, others have occupied a niche in the professional world; some have two jobs to make ends meet, while others knock on the doors of the Gulf countries in search of decent wages. When we graduated, the job market in Egypt was buoyant, particularly in our fields of study. Job fairs were held regularly in the Sadat Academy and most graduates knew in advance where they wanted to be. Not so with our class: the job fair cancelled, we were left to our own devices. Class 2000 had the added disadvantage of the September 2001 attacks. Many of us were undergoing training in various companies when businesses downsized in anticipation of recession. We leafed through classified job advertisements, most of which requested applicants to have three to five years' experience; we were jealous of those who graduated earlier, the way today's graduates are jealous of us. On the advice of our professors, many of us went for graduate studies. This proved to be useful not only in the job market, but on a more personal level, as graduate studies give one an added sense of confidence. Some helped their friends find jobs in the companies where they were employed. You may call this nepotism, but think again -- who knows your skills and character better than your former classmates? As for more conventional nepotism, this works too -- if you're lucky. Those with the right connections found good jobs faster than the rest of us. A few became self-employed, avoiding the hassle of looking for a job. Some started Xeroxing and typing offices. Others went all the way, starting successful programming and marketing companies. The past few years, while not necessarily disenchanting, have proven sobering enough. I used to joke with my best friend at college -- one day we would be racing on the highway in BMWs. I showed up to the reunion in a taxi. He didn't show up at all.
