From Shisha to Fika: An Egyptian's Journey Through Northern Sweden
European Solidarity Corps · Cultural Reflection
Between Desert Sun and Arctic Snow
What Life in Northern Sweden Taught an Egyptian Volunteer
I grew up in Ismailia, Egypt, where sunshine is ordinary, cafés spill onto the pavements, and conversations rarely end when the tea does. I never imagined that a few years later I would be living just beneath the Arctic Circle, volunteering with the European Solidarity Corps in northern Sweden.
The distance between Ismailia and Luleå is measured in thousands of kilometres, but the greater journey has been discovering that there is more than one way to build community, show kindness, and create a sense of belonging.
Before arriving, my image of Sweden was shaped by familiar stereotypes: flat-pack furniture, ABBA, meatballs, and endless forests. Those things certainly exist, but they reveal very little about everyday life. Living here taught me that culture lives in quieter places—in the way people queue, greet one another, share coffee, respect silence, and adapt to the wilderness around them.
Rather than deciding which culture has the better answers, this experience taught me something far more valuable: different societies often fulfil the same human needs in remarkably different ways.
1. Fika: Making Time for People
In Egypt, social life centres around the ahwa—the neighbourhood café. Plastic chairs spill into the street, glasses of hot mint tea arrive continuously, and three conversations compete at once. Interrupting someone is rarely rude; it is often proof that you are listening with enthusiasm.
Sweden has its own ritual of gathering, but it moves to a completely different rhythm: fika.
At first, I thought fika was simply an afternoon coffee break. I quickly discovered it is something much deeper. During volunteer projects, workdays, and visits to people’s homes, everything pauses. Phones stay in pockets, coffee is poured, and the room fills with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon buns.
What surprised me most was that connection does not depend on noise. Where an Egyptian café thrives on lively conversation, fika thrives on shared calm. Sometimes the deepest feeling of community comes simply from sitting together without rushing anywhere else.
2. The Language of Personal Space
One of my clearest culture shocks occurred before anyone had even spoken a word to me.
On a freezing winter morning, I stood at a bus stop watching commuters arrive. Without speaking or gesturing, they naturally formed a neat line, each person keeping a comfortable distance from the next. Nobody nudged forward. Nobody cut the queue. Nobody filled the silence with unnecessary small talk.
Coming from Egypt—where crowded pavements teach you to navigate as a close human wave and queues often become social negotiations—this level of distance felt almost unreal.
At first, I mistook that physical space for emotional coldness. Gradually, I realised I was mistaken. Personal space in Sweden is an expression of respect. Leaving someone uncrowded is simply a quiet way of recognising their peace and personal boundaries.
3. When Silence Speaks
In Egypt, an extended silence around a dinner table usually prompts someone to ask, “Is everything alright?” Conversation is one of the ways we express hospitality, affection, and inclusion.
Sweden completely overturned that instinct.
During my first months, I caught myself rushing to fill every conversational pause. I assumed silence meant discomfort. Instead, I discovered that my Swedish friends were perfectly at ease with it. They listened carefully, reflected before responding, and never seemed to feel pressure to speak simply for the sake of speaking.
The lesson was surprisingly profound: meaningful communication is not measured by volume or speed. Learning to become comfortable with silence was not about losing my Egyptian warmth—it was about expanding my ability to listen.
4. My First Arctic Winter
Nothing in North Africa prepares you for the physical reality of an Arctic winter.
Along the Suez Canal, daylight is steady and familiar throughout the year. In Luleå, winter compresses daylight into only a few precious hours before the afternoon sky fades into deep blue. The seasons do not merely change the weather—they transform the rhythm of life itself.
Yet what struck me most was the sound. The first time I stepped onto deep, dry snow, every footstep produced a sharp, satisfying squeak beneath my boots. Cyclists continued riding with studded tyres, families walked confidently across the frozen sea, and the town carried on despite temperatures far below freezing. Life adapted rather than paused.
Winter introduced me to the Scandinavian idea of mys: finding comfort through candles, warm drinks, blankets, and unhurried evenings. It taught me that resilience is not only about enduring difficult conditions; it is also about creating beauty and warmth within them.
5. Looking Up
One clear winter evening, friends suggested we might be lucky enough to see the Northern Lights. We drove beyond the city, stepped into complete darkness, and waited in silence.
Then the sky began to move.
Soft emerald ribbons stretched across the stars, slowly brightening before rippling with delicate shades of violet. No one in our group spoke. In that moment, words would have added nothing to what we were witnessing.
Growing up beside the Suez Canal, my eyes were usually drawn towards the water and the horizon. Northern Sweden taught me to look upward. It remains one of the most humbling and unforgettable moments of my life.
“Volunteering abroad did not change who I was; it expanded how I understand people. I learned that kindness, respect, and belonging exist in every culture—they are simply expressed in different ways.”
Final Reflections
My year with the European Solidarity Corps became far more than an opportunity to live abroad. It challenged assumptions I had never questioned, strengthened my ability to communicate across cultures, and taught me to recognise value in ways of living that were once unfamiliar to me.
I left Egypt carrying one understanding of community. I leave Sweden with another alongside it. Rather than choosing between them, I have learned to appreciate both—the warmth of spontaneous conversation and the quiet generosity of thoughtful silence.
That perspective, more than any photograph or souvenir, is what I will carry home.
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