The action movie-like story a few weeks ago of the Damiettan fishermen captured by Somali pirates deep in the Red Sea, who freed themselves and brought their captors all the way north to Damietta on the Mediterranean, underscores the irony that piracy remains the least of the sector’s threats.
The Damiettans did it. This is how the people of Ezbet El Burg, the seamen’s town, like to portray themselves after their recent Hollywood-style victory in Somalia. Everyone is talking about the heroic adventure of their fellow fishermen, who freed themselves from pirates, killing four and bringing eight captives back to Egypt.
Travelling north to Ezbet El Burg from Damietta City, the governorate’s capital, is an adventure in itself. A narrow, single-lane road is the town’s only connection to urban development, helping to preserve its unique local flavour.
The first comparison that comes to mind is the classic image of Cuba, due to the surprisingly large number of American Dodge cars on the cramped streets, still working as local taxis since the 1950s.
At first glance, the town appears to be a picture of poverty. Yet, in exploring its local economy, Ezbet El Burg might well be Egypt’s wealthiest community—albeit one burdened with stark underdevelopment.
The town is literally an island: bordered by the Mediterranean to the north, Manzala Lake to the west, the Nile to the east, and the Ratama Canal to the south. This natural geography has made it a prime fishing harbour since Greek times, a legacy reflected in the continued use of the Greek language by some locals.
Unofficial publications suggest it has over 2,700 boats, making it the Middle East’s largest fishing fleet and unquestionably Egypt’s largest. Houssam Khalil, the fishermen’s chief, states, ‘Ezbet El Burg has 1,050 registered boats. The rest are generally registered in other Egyptian harbours but prefer to operate here, where the market is bigger.’
‘Boats’ sizes range between 15 and 35 metres, hosting crews of 8 to 40 members,’ Khalil adds. ‘Not all are Damiettans; we draw labour from across Egypt to meet high demand, which makes our town vital to the national economy.’
Red Death
This huge fleet sails across both the Mediterranean and the Red Sea, fishing in international waters as well as the territorial waters of other countries such as Libya, Malta, Tunisia, and others along the Red Sea coast.
‘Many fishing agreements with neighbouring countries have been signed in the past, but all are now expired,’ Khalil explains. ‘The General Authority for Water Resources of Egypt shows no interest in renewing them, leaving each boat to shoulder the risks alone.’
In Ezbet El Burg, it is common to hear of crews being arrested, often monthly. The Libyan authorities are particularly feared. ‘If a boat strays—even unintentionally—into Libyan waters, which are unusually extensive, there is no mercy,’ says Mohamed Ahmad, an elderly fisherman using a pseudonym. ‘They paid Italy for it. Once you’re caught, they never reveal where the crew is held and often deny making arrests for months.’
While the Somali pirate incident has drawn recent media attention, local boats have long faced piracy near the Horn of Africa and even dealt with governments that flout agreements and official permissions issued prior to sailing.
Winter brings additional challenges. Financial pressures push boats to sail in the worst weather conditions, with no regulations to prevent such risks. Many tragic tales recount crews and vessels lost to storms or neglected by authorities.
The tragedy of last winter remains fresh in local memory: a crew of 12 drowned in Egyptian waters north of Alexandria. Gamal Maylo, a 34-year-old fisherman, recalls, ‘They called every port along the coast by radio and mobile phones, which still had coverage. But no one responded. A rescue boat took two hours to leave Port Said and another two to reach them. By then, they were already dead.’
The sense of persecution is palpable in the community’s stories, fuelled by indifference from both the government and the sea. Mohamed El Sonny, a former fisherman in his late twenties now working as a carpenter in Damietta, sums up his reasons for leaving the trade: ‘It’s a red death.’ Yet, for many, the risks seem addictive, underpinned by a deep sense of marine pride.
Emerging Challenges
Nature, piracy, and government neglect are not the only challenges confronting the fleet; economic and political fluctuations also add to the sector’s hardships. Diesel has long been a burden, consuming a large share of each trip’s budget, but recent price increases have made it even more of an obstacle. Sameer Khalil, a fish ring owner (linking boats to the fish markets), notes, ‘Diesel prices have jumped from 70 to 220 Egyptian pounds per barrel in less than three years, severely cutting boat revenues.’
Security concerns have also emerged as a relatively new factor, with impulsive regulations imposed by the Border Guards Army in connection to drug smuggling and “terrorism.” The town has an exaggerated historical reputation as Egypt’s northern gateway for hash smuggling, though arrests have not matched this notoriety.
Adel Abul So’oud, an elderly peddler who sells biscuits to seamen at the harbour, remarks, ‘Sometimes the sea carries hash packs lost by international drug smugglers, and it’s likely they could end up in fishing nets.’
Defending the fishermen, Abul So’oud says, ‘They’re good people. They used to halt their trips and report such finds to the Border Guards, which caused them heavy losses. But instead of gratitude, they’d be detained for days of investigation. Now, they just throw it back into the sea because they don’t want to be treated like criminals.’
The Palestinian issue also complicates matters, despite the fishermen’s general political ignorance due to spending most of their lives at sea. Regulations tied to the “war on terror” have created additional obstacles. Stories circulate of a boat allegedly caught smuggling weapons to Palestine, though evidence is lacking. ‘Sometimes they find weapons, but they throw those back into the sea too. These poor people are terrified of jeopardising their livelihoods,’ Abul So’oud explains, refusing to be photographed as he believes it is forbidden.
Another challenge stems from the common public construction practice of “build now, fix later.” During renovations of Ras El Barr’s corniche (the old royal summer resort), rocks were left behind, settling in the harbour passage. ‘The rocks have made it impossible for two boats to sail side by side along the new corniche. It’s a real challenge for captains to navigate safely, and the government hasn’t returned to fix the damage,’ says Sameer Khalil.
Capitalist ‘by Nature’
The fish market in Ezbet El Burg is a perfect example of a free market economy, with no claim to modern governmental influence in its development. Boats arrive through the night, racing to secure positions in a line at the fish ring, each with its own harbour along the Nile.
At 6 am, business begins as fish offloading gets underway. The first boat commands the best price for its haul, regarded as scarce. Prices drop incrementally with each subsequent boat until about 9 am.
Retailers then take their turn in another well-organised scene, purchasing stocks from the fish ring through an open, transparent auction. Bids are guided purely by supply and demand, ensuring a balanced market free from bureaucratic interference.
‘The fish boxes weigh between 20 and 22 kilograms. A small boat has a capacity of 60 to 80 boxes, while a large one can carry between 75 and 100,’ explains Khalil, the fish ring owner.
From an economic perspective, one might expect fish prices to rise, given the mounting challenges such as increased diesel costs. Yet they remain stagnant.
The free market has allowed an influx of imported fish, disrupting local profits. ‘Despite all the hardships fishermen endure and the rising cost of operations, imported fish prevents them from earning fair profits,’ Khalil laments.
Yasser Zaher, a fish importer critical of his own industry, admits, ‘Local fish is undeniably superior, but I’m forced to rely on imports due to the shrinking supply caused by the fleet’s difficulties. My business has to survive.’
Zaher also highlights corruption in the import system. ‘Port authorities only care about paperwork. They have no idea about fish quality and don’t even have a functional quarantine system,’ he says.
‘Consumers only focus on size and price, not quality. They don’t realise the imported fish come from farms abroad, where we have no idea what they’re fed. The fish we call Saffar (traveller) is healthy and naturally fed, but it struggles to compete in this market,’ Zaher adds.
Pollution Gravely Endangers Fishing
With the young importer’s confession about market distortion through lower-quality fish, the issue of water pollution inevitably arises. Houssam Khalil, the fishermen’s chief, addresses the topic in a broader context.
‘God provided Egypt with a water grace: two seas, five lakes, and a great river. Yet in response to this gift, we pollute them with household sewage, chemical industrial waste, and even waste from our boats,’ says Khalil.
‘Even the large fisheries located in Manzala Lake and elsewhere, which are licensed and encouraged by the government, pose the greatest threat to our fish wealth. They are the primary cause of overfishing, especially during the spawning season,’ Khalil adds.
He further explains how small boats from other Egyptian coastal towns use illegal nets that sweep up juvenile fish, disrupting the growth cycle. ‘For every 1,000 baby fish brought to the fisheries in the lakes, only 100 survive under the best conditions,’ he laments.
The tragedy, according to Khalil, stems from poor shipping and storage practices, which place the fish in a marine environment vastly different from their natural habitat, effectively halting the reproduction process.
Community Portrait
The town buzzes with fishing-related activities, including mechanical workshops, food suppliers, and spare parts stores—all impacted by the sector’s fluctuations.
Mohamed Shabka, a maritime mechanic, explains, ‘We are affected, but not severely. The boats must keep sailing, and we must keep fixing them—it’s our only livelihood. Lately, we’ve been doing more temporary repairs because boat owners can’t afford proper maintenance anymore.’
Amm Said, who owns a grocery store supplying food for fishing trips, adds, ‘The quantity of food hasn’t decreased—crews need to eat to work. But the variety has shifted to cheaper options, and boat owners now buy on credit.’
Seafood consumption remains integral to local culture. An elderly woman shopping at the nearby fish market shares, ‘We eat fish every second day.’ Asked if she would buy imported fish, she responds firmly, ‘We don’t eat rubbish here. We’re Azabwa (residents of Ezbet El Burg). We leave that to outsiders who can’t tell the difference.’
Despite the large number of boat owners in town, they are often hard to approach. Many avoid criticising the government to protect their businesses. Instead, they deflect inquiries politely. ‘Talk to him—he knows everything,’ they often say with a smile, pointing to another captain.
One captain of a medium-sized, busy boat, who prefers anonymity, remarks, ‘We have many problems—you probably know them all. But God is great, and His mercy is vast.’
The fishing labour force in Ezbet El Burg is overwhelmingly male. However, women play a unique role in shrimp peeling and calamari cleaning, working in circles close to the fish rings.
‘Work was more rewarding in the past, and things were cheaper,’ says a woman in her fifties. ‘Now, we don’t work every day because restaurants in Cairo buy imported, packed, frozen fish instead.’
Nostalgic Past
Most of the community of Ezbet El Burg, whether working on boats or onshore, are nostalgically lamenting how beautiful the past was. Even the young, who never experienced it, speak with a tone of longing, praising a bygone era they have only heard about.
Haitham Abu Ataya, the manager of a family-run boat-building business, recalls, ‘My father was the first to build a steel boat in Damietta in 1987. Back then, the business was thriving, and boat owners could afford to completely renovate their vessels annually. Now, they barely manage minor repairs and only paint the hull every other year.’
The elderly in this town appear better off than the younger generation, a clear indication that life was once easier. They enjoyed higher incomes and greater global mobility. Almost every old man in town has travelled the world multiple times as a seaman on cargo ships or Greek fishing boats.
Hajj Ahmad El Kahkany, a man in his sixties fluent in Greek, English, and Japanese, reminisces, ‘You young people are miserable. You’ve seen nothing, know nothing, and have no chance to do anything. I built my apartment building when I was 22. I furnished it with the latest appliances from Europe, and I was later able to send all my daughters to university.’
Legally speaking, fishermen in the past had access to almost any country in the world. Since the 1990s, however, regulations have tightened, and they now face significant restrictions.
El Kahkany, visibly frustrated by the declining state of the fishing industry, adds, ‘With my black passport (seaman’s passport), I could go anywhere in the world. My “international union” in London would step in if I ever had an issue. But now my son, who only has a vocational degree, can’t leave because his black passport isn’t worth the ink it’s printed with anymore.’
Another version of this article is published by Business Today Egypt.