After two decades in America, Masry, the protagonist of the classic Egyptian film ‘Bittersweet,’ finds himself once again grappling with the everyday frustrations of life in Cairo. Among his most surprising encounters is a visit to a government office to renew his passport.
To expedite his application, the official subtly requests ‘tea’ with ‘100 spoonfuls of sugar.’ Masry, baffled, soon learns from a friend that this thinly veiled request is, in fact, a demand for a bribe.
The official, unfazed by Masry’s shock, presents him with a choice: ‘Shall I assist you, or would you prefer to return to the end of the line with a ‘good conscience’?’
In Egypt, the act of giving cash for expedited service or as a token of appreciation is so deeply ingrained that many businesses even account for these ‘tips’ as standard operating costs. While service workers like parking valets and waiters commonly receive gratuities, the practice extends to a surprising array of professionals, including private medical receptionists, government clerks, and even hospital nurses who may expect tips for bringing water or other basic patient care.
Today, anyone watching ‘Bittersweet’ in Egypt, fifteen years after its release, would likely be struck by one detail above all: the surprisingly small amount of the bribe.
In 2010, 100 Egyptian pounds amounted to roughly $18. However, after numerous economic crises and currency devaluations, that same bribe today would be worth a mere $2.
Even a small sum like that can be a considerable burden for many middle-class and impoverished Egyptians. The nation has experienced double-digit inflation since its latest economic crisis began in early 2022, peaking at a staggering 38 percent in September 2023.
Last September, inflation eased to 11.7 percent, following substantial multi-billion-dollar bailouts from the International Monetary Fund, the United Arab Emirates, and the European Union, which aimed to stabilize the struggling economy.
Despite these efforts, economic reforms are progressing slowly, and Egyptians continue to bear the weight of years marked by sacrifice, austerity, and escalating poverty.
Marina Kaldas, a 29-year-old social media manager in Cairo, lamented, ‘Inflation has impacted everything, including tips. Previously, 10 to 20 pounds was perfectly adequate. Now, if you give someone just 10 pounds, it’s virtually useless.’
She recounted an exasperating experience when her father was hospitalized for kidney failure in March. Nurses reportedly neglected his requests for water or assistance with changing until she started tipping them — an additional, albeit small, daily expense of about $1 per nurse.
Kaldas noted that she understood the predicament: ‘Low wages compel people to depend on tips. They desperately need that extra income.’
While tipping is a deeply ingrained custom in Egypt, the line between a genuine gesture of gratitude and outright bribery for preferential treatment can often feel blurred, sparking varied opinions among the populace.
Two years prior, Kaldas found herself in a frustratingly long queue at an office, needing to renew her driver’s license urgently. She observed others brazenly bribing a government employee to bypass the driving test entirely.
Though she found the circumvention of road safety concerning, Kaldas admitted to tipping the same clerk 1,000 pounds (around $33) on top of the standard fees, simply to cut to the front of the line.
Today, she estimates, the ‘tip’ for such a favor would have surged to approximately 1,800 pounds (about $38).
With rising living costs, these increased tips are becoming increasingly difficult for many Egyptians to afford. Yet, some view offering extra money as a religious obligation or an act of charity, a means to bridge the vast divide between the privileged and the impoverished.
Despite government claims of expanded welfare programs, official statistics from 2019 estimated that nearly 30 percent of Egyptians lived below the poverty line. The actual number is almost certainly higher now, exacerbated by the coronavirus pandemic and recent economic crises. Compounding the hardship, the government is reducing vital subsidies on bread, gas, and electricity, which disproportionately affect the poorest citizens.
Mai Mohammed Sadek, an English teacher in Cairo, shared that she now attempts to tip parking valets and grocery baggers 10 to 15 pounds (about 20 to 30 cents), a notable increase from her pre-crisis usual of five pounds.
She reflected, ‘It has always been part of the culture, but the intention behind it has shifted. Now, you’re tipping because you understand the hardship, offering help rather than just saying thank you.’
However, regardless of genuine need, Sadek expressed irritation at the unsolicited ‘help’ from Cairo’s numerous self-appointed parking attendants. They often materialize the moment she pulls into a public spot, signaling their expectation of a tip through gestures or holiday greetings, despite her having found and parked the car independently.
‘What exactly did you do?’ she mused, ‘Nothing!’
Gifts that grant the giver an unfair advantage, like skipping a queue, also deeply bothered Sadek’s sense of justice.
Yet, for many Egyptians, these exchanges are simply the necessary lubricant for the often-grinding machinery of daily life. And for those receiving them, tips represent a socially acceptable means of survival in a relentlessly challenging economy.
Earlier this year, Amr Ahmed, a 55-year-old computer technician in Cairo, found himself at a medical clinic so overcrowded that he anticipated a wait of several hours to see a doctor.
Recognizing the receptionist’s receptive demeanor and an opportunity for expedited service, Ahmed discreetly offered 50 pounds, roughly $1, to secure an earlier appointment.
Just a few years prior, he noted, a mere five pounds would have sufficed.
‘Sometimes you feel awkward paying so little, knowing its minimal value,’ he explained. ‘When you offer someone money, you want it to be something they can truly value.’
