Fragile belonging: Working in Germany as an Egyptian citizen

Two weeks ago we published the first part of our interview with our former project manager Mariam Soliman - about arriving in Germany and the administrative chaos of trying to work here as an Egyptian citizen. In this second part, Mariam shares how that constant stress affected her life and what she wishes administration officials, employers and co-workers would have done differently.

Mariam, last time you already told us about the (sometimes absurd) regulations and structures you had to deal with in order to be allowed to work in Germany. How did all of that impact your life?

The impact was enormous — professionally as well as personally. For many years, I lived in a state of permanent uncertainty. I never knew whether I would truly be allowed to stay, whether I might lose everything again in a few months. This constant insecurity consumed an incredible amount of energy — energy I would have preferred to invest in my professional development.

Originally, I had very different plans. After five years of studying, I wanted either to start working directly or to build myself up as a freelancer. Pursuing another degree was never part of my life plan. But because of my residence status, I effectively had no choice. In order to be able to stay long-term, I had to enroll in another course of study. This meant not only a professional reorientation, but also an enormous linguistic and mental challenge. I speak German at a very high level, but it is not my mother tongue. Managing academic texts, complex theories, and formal requirements in a foreign language was exhausting and often lonely. Many of my fellow students found it difficult to understand where exactly my hurdles lay, because my everyday German was fluent. But there is a significant difference between conversational language and academic precision. Still, I had no option but to function. I focused all my energy on completing this degree successfully — not out of passion, but out of strategic necessity.

Professionally, this meant that I saw numerous job advertisements that would have been perfect for me — but required full-time work, which I was not allowed to do. At one point, I even applied to be an Arabic translator to accompany BAMF interviews with Syrian refugees. I was accepted — until it became apparent that I did not have the appropriate work permit. I could have provided immediate support, but I was not permitted to do so. I could have helped to counteract the shortage of skilled workers, but I was not permitted to do so due to legal obstacles.

Working in Germany? Maybe - if you've got a German degree

I was repeatedly told the same thing by lawyers: only with a German university degree would I be able to remain in the labor market with relative stability. Without that degree, I would have had to return to Cairo, find a job from there, and hope that a company would be willing to take on a lengthy, costly, and uncertain visa process for me. The risk was simply too high. Added to that, all the years I have already spent here would not count if I later submit my application for a settlement permit or naturalization.

Photo: Mariam Soliman

After completing my studies, it became clear that even my first bachelor's degree in media design was not easily usable. It had to be recognized for a high fee before I could use it to look for a job. Even then, other, less favorable conditions applied because it was not a German or EU degree. I would have had to wait longer before I could apply for a residence permit, and my years of study would not have counted because they were for a different degree. For questions of long-term residence, how my study periods were credited played a role. I had to think strategically about all of this because my ultimate goal was to obtain long-term residence as quickly as possible — I had already been living in Germany for six years at that point. I could hardly bear this uncertain situation any longer.

Beyond the formal restrictions, the emotional strain was significant. Outwardly, I functioned — in my studies, among friends, in daily life. But internally, there was always this question: What happens if I don’t make it? What happens if I finish my studies but don’t find a job? Would I have wasted all those years? Would I have to return to Egypt? My nervous system was on high alert for years. It was an invisible issue that I carried with me. And at some point, it started feeling like a burden to keep bringing it up in talks with friends.

It was particularly painful to hear time and again: “But you speak perfect German—why don't you just get the citizenship?" What was meant well only reinforced my feeling of powerlessness. Yes, I speak German very well and am extremely well integrated, but that doesn't matter when it comes to my residence status. Besides, I'm not the person who can answer that question. It should rather be directed at political decision-makers and the immigration authorities. At the same time, I constantly heard, “But there is a shortage of skilled workers and you are highly qualified.” And at the same time, there were heated debates in the media about a lack of integration and migrants who don't work, while I myself experienced how structural barriers hindered qualified people.

In 2024, immigration law was reformed. Many of the regulations that had made my path more difficult — for example regarding changes between residence categories or the recognition of degrees — were adjusted or are currently evolving. This is a positive and important step, even if this reform came far too late for me. But I feel greatly relieved that something has changed and that other people will hopefully no longer have to overcome these hurdles.

The years of uncertainty, however, remain part of my story. It feels like a scar: healed, no longer open—but it constantly reminds me how fragile this path was. How fragile belonging can feel when it depends on formal conditions over which one has only limited influence.

More empathy, less inefficiency: What could the German administration change?

Like you said, some things have recently changed. But if there were three more things that you could ask from the administration, what would they be? 

If I could change three things, the first would be this: we need to understand that behind every application there is an entire existence. For the caseworker, it is a file; for the person concerned, it is a question of future, security, and belonging. That discrepancy should never be forgotten.

The first concrete point would be consistent digitalization and simplification of procedures. It cannot be that applicants have to submit the same documents over and over again — copies of passports or residence permits that already exist within the authorities’ own systems. A modern, digitally interconnected system could automatically cross-check documents, indicate early on what is missing, provide standardized feedback, and significantly accelerate procedures. Currently, a great deal depends on manual review, in-person appointments, and lengthy communication. This not only ties up unnecessary resources on the administrative side, but also prolongs uncertainty for those affected. Efficient and transparent digital processes would benefit both sides.

The second point concerns attitude. Awareness training — including anti-racism training — should be mandatory and standard at all levels. Anyone working in an authority that decides on residence matters carries enormous responsibility. It is not only about paragraphs of law, but about life trajectories. A respectful, explanatory, and humane approach should be a basic requirement. That also includes communicating in an understandable way. Responses written in highly complex administrative German are not helpful for many people, especially if German is not their first language. Multilingual and low-threshold information would be an important step.

What suggestions does Mariam have for German officials? (Photo: Mariam Soliman)

Thirdly, structural changes are needed: sufficient staffing, better accessibility, transparency of the margins of judgment, and clearly defined responsibilities. I have seen for myself how much depends on how much stamina, financial resources, or legal support someone can muster. But residence rights should not depend on who can fight the loudest or the longest. If integration and the recruitment of skilled workers are politically desirable, then procedures must be designed in such a way that they enable participation and create legal certainty—not additional hurdles.

In this context, I find a thought expressed by the Refugee Council of Baden-Württemberg very fitting: immigration authorities should understand themselves as service-oriented and welcoming institutions, working transparently and in a human-rights-oriented way, while being accessible and capable of action. A modern administration shortens procedures, creates clarity, and concretely improves people’s living realities. Even though this idea is often formulated in the context of refugees, in my view it applies more broadly to everyone who wants to live and work here. In the end, it is not about abolishing rules. It is about implementing them in ways that are

comprehensible, consistent, and dignified.

Empathy is important - but there's more to be done

What helped you during this exhausting journey through the system? What advice can you offer to people currently in this situation, and what can employees, colleagues and friends do to support them?

What helped me most were people who did more than simply express sympathy. Empathy is important — and I truly appreciate it when someone says, “I’m sorry” or “That’s really crazy.” But often it stopped there. And in a situation where so much is at stake, that is sometimes not enough. What felt especially powerful was when someone took a step further and asked concretely: “How can I support you?” or “Should I come with you?” or “Can I call somewhere for you?” In those moments, I felt not only understood, but supported. It makes a significant difference whether someone hears the problem as an annoying story — or recognizes that an entire existence is being negotiated.

Looking back, I would have wished for even more of that proactive support. It is exhausting enough to repeatedly submit documents, follow up, and explain your situation. It is even harder to also have to actively ask for help. Many people underestimate how much overcoming that requires.

It is also important not to immediately compare the situation to one’s own experiences with bureaucracy. Of course, dealing with authorities can be frustrating for many people. But there is a fundamental difference between an inconvenience at the citizens’ office and a situation in which your residence, your professional future, or your ability to visit family depends on the outcome. Being aware of these differences — and of one’s own privileges — helps greatly.

For employers, support is particularly valuable. When they proactively signal that they are willing to provide additional documents, respond to inquiries, or patiently navigate longer procedures, that relieves enormous pressure. It is equally important to leave space for the emotional dimension. Residence matters are not mere formalities — they affect housing situations, family connections, professional perspectives, and a person’s overall sense of security. Listening, taking concerns seriously, and understanding that such processes often stretch over years can be a great relief.

What I would advise others in a similar situation: look for allies. Speak openly about your circumstances, even if it takes strength. And remind yourself that many of these hurdles are structural in nature and say nothing about your abilities or your worth.

Dual citizenship - and an end to constant stress

Last year you officially became a German citizen. How has that changed your life?

Yes, I am now — quite officially. ;) It’s incredible.

What has changed? Above all, an immense sense of relief. It feels as though a huge mountain has fallen from my shoulders. I no longer have to prove that I am allowed to stay. I no longer have to think about the next extension, no longer remain on high alert because of deadlines, income thresholds, or residence permits. I am simply allowed to be.

Interestingly, that feeling did not come immediately. When I held my naturalization certificate in my hands, I initially felt almost numb. After years of chronic stress, constant uncertainty, and inner alarm, my nervous system could not immediately grasp the joy. That was quite unsettling to me. But a few months later, when my work at IN-VISIBLE ended, the relief began to settle in slowly. I suddenly realized: I am not forced to find a new job within a few months. I do not have to secure an appointment at the immigration office. I do not have to prove that my salary is “sufficient.” This inner freedom arrived gradually — and it is profound.

It was precisely from that feeling that my desire to rebuild my freelance work and begin my hiking project emerged. Both were deeply connected to a need for calm — to soothe my nervous system, to listen to myself again, and to reclaim what I had postponed for so long.

Another major point is that I was able to keep my Egyptian citizenship. That is not a small matter for me. I would not have seen it as fair to have to give up a part of my identity in order to be fully recognized here. I carry two worlds within me — with all their contradictions, beauties, and challenges. Not having to choose between them feels like a great gift and an important step toward a more realistic understanding of belonging. 

Now I am looking forward to voting for the first time, to signing a citizens’ initiative — to contributing my voice in the most literal sense. And I find myself wondering in what ways I can enrich this country beyond forms and documentation.

When I think about the fact that I have now been here for ten years, it feels almost unreal. It has been an intense path — but one that has shaped me. And perhaps “having arrived” is not a final state, but a feeling one is eventually allowed to carry within, without having to be afraid.