TEData is the largest internet service provider in Egypt, operating a national network with regional ambitions. Founded in late 2001 as a joint-stock company by Telecom Egypt, it was established as the state telecom giant’s internet and data services arm—an alliance, to be sure.
The National Telecommunications Regulatory Authority granted TEData a Class A licence, which allows it to build its own nationwide network, operate an international data gateway, install its own equipment at its headquarters, and provide internet protocol-based services to both end users and other service providers.
This is how the company describes itself on its website. It also promotes a grand national vision, claiming its goal is to ‘provide the most advanced telecom services that exceed customer expectations, increase the company’s market share, and achieve the highest service standards by attracting and retaining the best minds’. The company also makes a show of its supposed commitment to ‘business ethics’ and ‘adding value for our customers, employees, shareholders, and communities’.
I was particularly struck by the latter part about ethics and values. One can only wonder what exactly this ‘respectable’ company means by such lofty ideals, given that its actual practices amount to little more than exploiting its dominance and forcing its will upon customers—operating much like the street thugs of Mamluk-era Cairo, when Egyptians had no choice but to submit to whatever was imposed upon them due to a lack of alternatives.
My own encounter with this internet service bully began when I tried to switch providers. But how dare I attempt to leave the market’s enforcer without facing consequences?
First, TEData flatly refused to cancel my service. They insisted that the previous tenant of my flat—who had moved out a year earlier and was now in India—had to appear in person, with identification, to request the cancellation himself. I explained the situation. ‘Not our problem. These are the rules.’ I asked if he had any outstanding payments. I was willing to settle them. ‘No,’ they said. ‘But he still has to come in person.’ This was the response I received at a TEData branch in downtown Cairo. When I asked why such inflexible policies existed, the employee shrugged: ‘This is Egypt! Bureaucracy everywhere. You didn’t know?’
I called customer service and explained this absurd situation. They were no more helpful. I found their logic so outrageous that I decided to pursue the matter to its bitter end, just to see how they would respond. I threatened to report them to the Consumer Protection Agency. They promised to call me back within two hours. Of course, no one did. I then tried reaching the Consumer Protection Agency myself, but—unsurprisingly—I could not get through to a single person willing to help.
Then, as if by divine intervention, a TEData representative finally called. He pleaded with me to reconsider my decision to cancel, but I was adamant. Eventually, he relented, dropped the demand for the ‘Indian man’ to return, and informed me that my service had been cancelled. He assured me I would receive a cancellation reference number within a week—most likely a result of my threats to escalate the matter.
A week passed. No reference number. I called back. ‘It will be ready within 48 hours, sir. That’s just how Telecom Egypt operates.’ As if TEData and Telecom Egypt were not, in fact, the same entity. As if I were a foreigner unfamiliar with the relationship between them. This back-and-forth continued for nearly three months. Every call ended with the same empty promise: ‘48 more hours.’ Each time, I reminded them of my complaint to the Consumer Protection Agency, which had still not responded. Each time, they blamed Telecom Egypt’s exchanges for the delay.
I eventually went to the exchange myself to ask why they had not processed the cancellation request, despite TE Data having supposedly sent it five times. Customer service staff—whose names I now knew by heart—had all told me the same thing. ‘We never received anything,’ exchange employees claimed. Two senior staff members then admitted that this was TEData’s standard tactic: exhausting customers until they gave up on cancelling their service. Their strategy relied on the fact that TEData and Telecom Egypt—sister companies—worked together to suppress competition and maintain their 70% market share.
From inside the exchange, I called TEData’s customer service. My ‘new friend’ there answered and told me, once again, to wait 48 hours. He then accused Telecom Egypt of lying. ‘God forgive them,’ he said, feigning innocence. But I had reached my limit. This time, I threatened to file a formal police report, accusing both companies of fraud and monopolistic practices. The customer service agent promptly hung up. Moments later, I found my number blocked—I could no longer contact them.
And yet, as it turns out, legal threats are the only way to deal with Egypt’s internet mafia. Within 24 hours, I received the cancellation reference number that I had spent months begging for. So, having finally escaped TEData’s grip—and knowing that thousands of others have failed to do the same—I urge those trapped in a similar ordeal to take legal action. Filing police reports against these predatory tactics may be the only viable option in a market governed by economic thuggery, where justice is absent, and monopolistic bullying reigns supreme.
This article is originally published by AlBorsa in Arabic and later AI-translated by South Push.