‘Health is a crown on the heads of the healthy, seen only by the sick’—a proverb that every Egyptian has heard at school, read in textbooks, and endured through endless repetition on state-run television and radio. Egyptians understand well the importance of sport and its link to good health, hoping to one day place this ‘crown’ upon their own heads, weighed down by frail and exhausted bodies.
Yet understanding, desire, and hope are a far cry from reality. Day after day, it becomes clearer that the only exercise most Egyptians get is sprinting after buses or leaping onto moving trains. Public sports clubs and local playgrounds are either too overcrowded with young people who cannot afford alternatives or actively push them away—whether through bureaucracy, poor management, or their frequent conversion into wedding halls and cafés.
The only alternatives are, predictably, private facilities—exclusive sports clubs, independent health centres, or hotel gyms. Even lesser-known private clubs demand membership fees exceeding EGP 50,000—if they are accepting new members at all. Otherwise, applicants are placed on years-long waiting lists, hoping for an existing member to pass away. If fortunate enough to have a relative or friend with access, one might be able to enter with a daily pass costing around EGP 30—though finding such a connection is unlikely, as oil and water do not mix.
For those considering well-equipped health centres, monthly fees range from EGP 300 to EGP 800, covering trainers, nutritionists, and sometimes even doctors and dance instructors. ‘Egypt is a beautiful country—except for the scamming taxi drivers and unbearable pollution. That’s why I’m here at the gym,’ one foreign client might say. ‘I love working out to house music, but I save trance for when I smoke up,’ a young Egyptian woman might add, dreaming of becoming a model and catching the eye of partygoers at Zamalek’s Purple nightclub.
Meanwhile, in the budget-friendly gyms where fees are below EGP 100 per month, a typical scene might unfold as follows: five people crammed onto a single wooden bench inside a poorly ventilated flat, run by a young local who has developed some muscle mass—thanks to hormone injections—and now considers himself the ‘star of the neighbourhood’ and an inspiration to others.
‘Respect the beast! That’s what proper chest gains look like!’ cheer a group of gym-goers as they huddle in a one-metre square space, hyping up the guy currently using the equipment. As for the gym’s bathroom, it is nothing more than a makeshift renovation of a standard home toilet, where a bathtub has been split into two shower spaces—offering just a tattered curtain for privacy. Hygiene is a luxury here; the facilities are used by dozens, if not hundreds, of people daily with little to no upkeep. A single communal towel is shared by all, just as the same water bottle—refilled by the ‘Captain’ who owns the gym—is passed around among members, a humble show of support for young athletic talent.
Under such conditions, one might argue that it is better for these young men not to exercise at all. Even street running—reserved for men, of course—is a hazardous activity, with polluted air posing serious respiratory risks. In an economy that lacks any coherent vision for human development and fails to provide the most basic health services or meaningful youth engagement, the best physical activity available remains chasing down buses. As for the unemployed and underperforming students, they already know where to go—street corners, where the national pastime is sexual harassment. And so, the old saying turns out to be just another school-taught and media-propagated deception, distorting the Egyptian mindset rather than enlightening it. The more fitting reality? ‘Health is a crown on the heads of the rich, seen only by the poor.’
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.