In Cairo, dreaming of a future

Behind the luxury gated villas and oversized shopping malls that make up Cairo's wealthy suburbs, a cluster of grey concrete blocks of flats stretches out into the shimmering heat.

Inside a non-descript flat, several Syrian women have gathered in the bleak waiting room, sitting on plastic chairs placed beside whirling fans. They've come to this small relief center run by a local foundation to beg for support.

Sahar, a bubbly 39-year-old mother of three, her round, smiling face framed by a black headscarf, fans her newborn baby with a piece of paper. The girl's tiny and sickly; she was born prematurely, Sahar says.

But her daughter isn't her biggest worry - it's her husband, who left three months ago when the facilitator called. It was time to leave, the man said whom her husband had given all their savings to smuggle him to the West, possibly New Zealand, Sahar, who only wants to go by her first name, doesn't know for sure.

Sahar hasn't heard from him since. "I'm so worried, but I have to stop myself from thinking about it," she says. "I need to continue looking after my family."

She smiles ruefully. Her husband doesn't even know that she has given birth to their daughter, whom she called Hamza: whisper.

Many refugees struggle to survive

Sahar knows that her husband might not make it to New Zealand, and that countless people die every day trying to flee the Middle East. But he didn't have a choice, Sahra says. Her husband worked as a day laborer and Sahra, a housewife back in Aleppo, helped out in a local spa until she had to stop shortly before giving birth. But still, the family could barely make ends meet.

Others, too, are feeling the pain. Many are surviving on odd jobs and handouts from aid organizations and the occasional charity from local mosques, at a time when an economic downturn and high inflation are making life ever more expensive in Egypt.

This comes at a time when international aid organizations like the World Food Programme, which has provided food vouchers to some 87,000 refugees, according to figures released in March, are cutting back on aid, cash and food handouts amid a funding crisis.

One refugee, the 44-year-old Fa'ida, who only wanted to go by her first name, told DW that she sold all her furniture to buy the medicines needed for her sick husband, since aid agencies had cut back on handouts to her family. In theory, refugees have access to health and education - but in a country where public hospitals and schools are often underfunded and overcrowded, many Syrians interviewed by DW complained of being treated last.

Life in Egypt for Syrian refugees is increasingly getting harder, according to Mohlam Muaz Alkhen, a polite medical student in his final year. He met with DW in his spacious office full of gloomy oil paintings in central Cairo, clutching an iPad that kept lighting up with a constant stream of messages.

The young Syrian is the director of Ghad, the relief foundation he launched in 2012 to help the hundreds of thousands of refugees flooding into the country. Back then, under the leadership of Mohammed Morsi, Egypt's former president and member of the Muslim Brotherhood, it was easy for Syrians to obtain visas and work permits, Alkhen says.

But since Morsi was ousted from power by the military in 2013 following mass protests against his rule, it's become virtually impossible to obtain one by legal means. Today, the only way to a visa and work permit, according to Alkhen, is to pay up to $3,000 (2,770 euros) in bribes for one.

"In Europe, the governments help Syrian refugees find homes and jobs, but here, Syrian refugees don't even have the most basic rights," Alkhen says, his voice weary.

'If the international community doesn't help, they'll resort to an illegal way'

And so, many are leaving. At the peak, some 700,000 Syrian refugees lived in Egypt. Today, Alkhen estimates the number has dropped to around 300,000. Last year alone, he estimates, up to 25,000 Syrian refugees left Egypt illegally. "If the international community doesn't help them leave in a legal way, they will resort to an illegal way," he says, shaking his head.

In a meeting room in the German embassy, books on German culture stacked on the shelves, DW met some of the lucky few. A family of Syrian refugees gathers around a table filled with drinks and biscuits. They are part of a group of 154 Syrian refugees being flown to Germany this week that make up some of the 20,000 Syrian refugees the German government has pledged to grant asylum status on humanitarian grounds. It's a number that, at least off the record, officials admit is woefully small given the high number of Syrian refugees.

Among them is Hana Abdul Haleem Al-Sufi, who says she felt "happy and relieved" when the phone call came. "I knew that now our children are going to get a better education and my brothers-in-law are going to be treated in a much better way."

The petite 32-year-old mother of three from Homs gestures to her three brothers-in-law, who are seated around the table. They're mentally challenged and it was impossible to get the right care for them in Egypt, she says. Most of the refugees selected to move to Germany have family ties there, but some, like her family, are selected by the UN refugee agency (UNHCR) on humanitarian or health grounds.

'I want to learn'

Al-Sufi's son, the 5-year-old Mohammed, sidles up. Is he excited to go to Germany? He nods, too shy to speak. His mother smiles: "Every day he keeps on asking me: Are they going to give me a bicycle, are they going to give me toys, are they going to let me go to kindergarten and learn?"

His older brother, 11-year-old Abdullah, says he misses his friends back in Syria, but is happy to go to Germany. "I want to learn."

Back in the small relief center in the suburbs, Sahar's still rocking her baby girl. Her daughter's tiny face is crumpled, her fists clenched. Does she think her daughter will ever see their hometown Aleppo? She stares down at Hamza, little whisper, as she speaks.

"Regardless of what's happening, regardless of the atrocities and horror, we're all dreaming of going back home one day," she says. Despite being the place where members of the security forces tortured her husband, despite everything - Syria is still home.