University graduates account for most of the many salespeople who spend all day trudging round the streets and café shops of Cairo and other big cities. Unlike their Chinese colleagues, whose gentle taps on the door are welcomed by housewives, the Egyptian salespersons limit their would-be customers to pedestrians and the patrons of cafés. Many of these young people, especially arts, economics and law graduates, keep on telling themselves that their years at university have not been wasted. “When I return home tired, my mother comforts me by saying that I should not lose hope and that one day I will find a proper and steady job,” says a young man called Adel, one of their number. “At least we gain good experience in sales techniques, persuading people to buy things they don't need,” adds Adel, a 29-year-old graduate of the Faculty of Commerce, Ain Shams university. Many people feel sympathetic, because he holds a university degree and has never had a proper job. “People sitting in cafés become very kind when I tell them my story. They too have sons and daughters of my age at home, desperately looking for work. So they often buy things from me,” he said. According to Adel, this sympathy translates into a wage of about LE20 (nearly $4) a day. It was a friend, who encouraged Adel to launch this business. “My friend, Haytham, was unemployed for years until he started selling trinkets to people in the street and public places,” he recalls. Haytham and Adel had been friends at university and used to meet regularly in a café in el-Sayyeda Zeinab district of Cairo in the evenings. “One day, my friend persuaded me to start selling stuff the following morning,” he explains. In order to get launched, all that Adel had to buy was a rucksack and a box to display his samples. His friend introduced him to companies and agencies willing to employ salespeople without giving them salaries or insisting on cash in advance. “These young people visit these companies at the end of the week to settle their bill for the goods they've bought from them to sell in the street,” Adel said. Adel walks with a stoop because his rucksack is so heavy. “The company gives me so many products to sell. It's exhausting.” His rucksack contains cheap products, traditionally made in China, such as watches, lighters, torches, sunglasses, watchstraps, key rings, pens, pencils, etc. Like hundreds of thousands of university graduates and school leavers, Adel, in his years-long search for a job anywhere in Egypt, knocked on the door of countless government offices, as well as public- and private- sector companies. He filled in hundreds of application forms and stood in hundreds of queues, hoping for an interview. The traditional answer he was given was: “We'll ring you up later.” But the dust has gathered on Adel's home telephone over the years. “I don't know what's happened to my application forms. I doubt that these companies and offices have enough space to store millions of application forms submitted by jobseekers like me.” Asked about his marriage plans, Adel looks embarrassed. “What can I say when the girl's parents want to know how much I earn?” he asks despairingly.
