Cairo s bikyeah sellers battle traffic, cops and cheapskates
CAIRO: Khaled Hussein spends 56 hours a week hunting the streets and alleys of Cairo in a never-ending pursuit of junk.
On a good day, Hussein can make up to LE 100 collecting and reselling secondhand items, different types of junk and whatever people are willing to spare. On a bad day, he can end up with a mere LE 5.
This is the bikyeah business, you never know how our day will end up, says Hussein, standing by his empty bicycle cart.
From the lack of scrap metal and junk in his cart, it looks to be one of those slow days. Things aren t like they used to be in the past; people are more hesitant to give away their junk free or even for reasonable prices that can result in a decent profit.
You ve probably heard them: along with the call to prayer and the cacophonous din of traffic, the bellow of the bikyeah is one of the most distinct sounds in Cairo.
And while armies of them patrol the streets, thanks to increased competition and government interference, it s getting tougher for these barons of scrap to make a decent living.
Six years ago, frustrated with low pay, Hussein quit his job painting cars. But when he couldn t find full time work, he turned to the bikyeah business as a way to make a living.
But it s precarious job at the best of times.
As more young Egyptians turn to jobs in the informal economy to make ends meet, authorities are less willing to turn a blind eye to these black market entrepreneurs.
They ll run after us, and sometimes, we have no choice but to leave everything behind so we won t go to prison, says Hussein, adding that three of his previous bikyeah carts have been seized by police.
Today, Hussein has brought along his 11-year-old nephew Ahmed, who tags along and helps out however he can. While education for children in Egypt is free in theory, in practice, Ahmed s family can t afford to send him to school or pay for the other hidden costs of education like books and tutoring.
There s not enough money to pay for his free education, says Hussein cynically.
For the younger scrap collectors, bikyeah provides a temporary fix and a way to pick up some quick cash before moving onto bigger and better things. Hussein, for example, is trying to save up enough cash to get a taxi, at which point he ll dump the bikyeah for good in favor of a slightly more respectable career.
For others, however, it’s a lifetime gig.
Kamal Kamel has been working on the bikyeah beat in Zamalek for more than 20 years. And considering Kamel is one of only a handful of bikyeah men patrolling the affluent neighborhood s streets, he manages to make a pretty good living.
The reason I ve been in this profession for this long is that it s been very profitable, he says, smoking a cigarette and leaning on his push-pedal cart (tirocycl) on the tree-lined Baghat Ali Street in Cairo.
So profitable, in fact, that Kamel has been able to support a wife and eight children on his daily earnings.
Indeed, Zamalek, with its mix of rich locals and well-to-do foreigners, is one of the most coveted territories among Cairo s bikyeah men – a jewel of junk on the Nile. For Kamel, the work day is shorter than his bikyeah brethren in other neighborhoods because chances are, he ll find better stuff and he ll find it quicker.
Downtown, more than 200 bikyeah sellers literally compete for scraps, but there are only five bikyeah sellers in Zamalek, he says.
While Kamel can be spotted strolling Zamalek s leafy streets bellowing out his throaty bikyeah call, most of his real work goes on behind the scenes. Thanks to 20 years of accumulated contacts, Kamel has a well-established network of clients and customers who keep him in the loop and call him up when they want to buy, sell or trade. Think of him as a talking, smoking classified section – on wheels.
Some of my old customers call me up on my cell phone whenever they have something special for me, he says, noting that car batteries, silverware, office appliances and pieces of metal are among the most profitable items for any bikyeah man.
You can tell business is good. He s got a cell phone and his cart is well-oiled, fully functioning, and filled with a plethora of household objects. Kamel is also a master at getting the best prices out his customers while convincing them they re getting a good deal.
Case in point: The Daily Star Egypt offered to sell Kamel a small hand-flexor strength developer for LE 10. After several minutes of hard bargaining, Kamal feigned disinterest and was about to leave, when we settled on a much lower price than we d expected: LE 2.
While we were easily duped, most customers these days are stingy, street-smart and less willing to give away their secondhand stuff, the bikyeah men who spoke to The Daily Star Egypt said.
Customers know how much something should cost now, and most of them are hard to sway – they won t go for the kind of profits that would make me a profit, said a salesman in the middle-class Hadayek el Qubba neighborhood who didn t want to give his name.
Before becoming a bikyeah seller, he was a construction worker. He also quit because of low pay and irregular hours.
While not all bikyeah neighborhoods were created equal, two things unite them: the first is the Bassateen market, where most bikyeah men from all over the city congregate to cash in on their collected bounty.
The second, is chance.
Some days are good, some days are bad, says Kamal, the Zamalek bikyeah man. There are no rules in this business. It s all about luck.
