I grew up in Maadi, a quiet district in Cairo. My father was an engineer. My mother was a teacher. They both believed in education, especially for their daughters. I have two sisters. All three of us went to university. That alone put us ahead of many women in Egypt.
I studied computer science at Cairo University. I was a good student. Not the top of my class, but solid. I graduated with decent grades and got a job as a junior developer at a small software company. On paper, things were fine. But inside, I was lost.
I did not love coding. I was okay at it, but it did not excite me. I would sit at my desk for hours, staring at the screen, feeling nothing. I thought something was wrong with me. Everyone around me seemed so passionate. They talked about code like it was art. To me, it was just work.
I started to wonder if I had chosen the wrong field. Maybe I should have studied business. Maybe I should have become a teacher like my mother. Maybe I was not smart enough for STEM after all. These thoughts kept me up at night. I felt like a failure even though no one else could see it.
I thought about quitting. But I did not know what else I would do. I was stuck. And I was alone. I had no one to talk to about this. My friends were mostly developers who loved their jobs. My family would not understand. My parents sacrificed so much for my education. How could I tell them I wanted to give up?
One day, a colleague told me about an online community for women in STEM. It was not specific to Egypt, but there were members from all over the world, including the Middle East. I was skeptical at first. I had tried online groups before and found them either too big to be useful or too quiet to be active.
But I was desperate. So I signed up. I filled out my profile. I wrote that I was a junior developer in Cairo who was not sure if she belonged in tech. I expected nothing to come of it.
A week later, I got a message from a woman named Leila. Leila was a data scientist in Dubai. She had grown up in Alexandria. She understood the Egyptian context. She had also started her career as a developer and felt the same emptiness I was feeling. She made the switch to data science and never looked back.
Leila offered to chat with me. Just a thirty minute video call to see if she could help. I almost said no. I was nervous. What would I even say? But I said yes. And that call changed my life.
Leila listened to me. Really listened. She did not tell me to just try harder or to be grateful for my job. She said she understood why I felt stuck. Then she asked me a question that stopped me cold. What do you actually like doing? Not what you are supposed to like. What do you actually enjoy?
I thought about it. I told her I liked finding patterns in data. I liked asking questions and trying to answer them with numbers. I liked the feeling of discovering something that was not obvious. She smiled and said have you ever considered data science?
Leila became my mentor. Not in a formal way. We did not sign agreements or set strict schedules. But over the next year, we talked regularly. Sometimes twice a month. Sometimes more. She helped me figure out what skills I needed to learn. She recommended courses and books. She reviewed my projects and gave me honest feedback.
The transition was not easy. I was working full time and studying at night. I was tired all the time. Some nights I fell asleep at my desk with my laptop still open. But for the first time in years, I felt excited about learning. I was not just going through the motions. I was working toward something I actually wanted.
Leila also helped me with things that had nothing to do with technical skills. She coached me on how to talk about my work. How to explain what I did in a way that impressed people. How to negotiate for a better salary. How to deal with colleagues who dismissed me because I was a woman.
One conversation sticks with me. I told her that sometimes I felt like an imposter. Like I did not deserve to be in this field. She said something I will never forget. Every woman in STEM feels that way sometimes. Even me. Even senior directors. The difference is that we have learned to keep going anyway. You will too.
After a year of studying and practicing, I felt ready to apply for data science roles. Leila helped me rewrite my resume to highlight relevant skills. She did mock interviews with me until I stopped stumbling over my words. She introduced me to people in her network who were hiring.
I applied to five jobs. I got three interviews. I was rejected from the first two. Each rejection stung. But Leila reminded me that it only takes one yes. She was right. The third interview was at a multinational company with an office in Cairo. The hiring manager was a woman. She asked good questions. She seemed to actually listen to my answers.
A week later, I got the offer. I cried when I read the email. Not just because I got the job, but because I had finally found a path that felt right. I called Leila immediately. She cried too. Then she told me it was time for me to start thinking about becoming a mentor myself.
At first, I did not think I was ready to mentor anyone. I had only been in my new role for a few months. I was still learning every day. But Leila insisted. She said you do not need to know everything. You just need to be a few steps ahead of someone else.
So I signed up to be a mentor on MakePossible. I was matched with Nadia, a young woman in Cairo who had just graduated with a degree in statistics. She was trying to break into data science but did not know where to start. She reminded me so much of myself a few years ago.
Helping Nadia was different from being helped by Leila. I had to articulate things I had learned intuitively. I had to be patient when she struggled with concepts that seemed obvious to me. And I had to admit when I did not know something. That was humbling, but it also made me a better data scientist.
Nadia got her first data science job after six months of working together. She sent me a message that said I changed her life. I finally understood what Leila must have felt when I got my job. There is no feeling quite like knowing you helped someone become who they wanted to be.
Looking back, I realize that mentoring saved my career. Not just because Leila taught me technical skills, but because she believed in me when I did not believe in myself. That belief gave me the courage to keep going. To take risks. To try something new even when I was scared.
I also learned that mentoring is not a one way street. I gave Leila something too. I reminded her why she loved her work. I asked questions that made her think. I brought energy and enthusiasm that she found contagious. Good mentoring relationships benefit both people.
And now, as a mentor myself, I am learning even more. Every conversation with Nadia teaches me something. About patience. About clarity. About the joy of watching someone grow. I am a better professional because I am a mentor.
If you are in Cairo or anywhere in Egypt and you are feeling stuck in your STEM career, please know that you are not alone. There are people who want to help you. Find them. Reach out. Send that message. The worst that can happen is they say no. The best that can happen is a relationship that changes your life.
If you are reading this and you are thinking about finding a mentor, do not wait until you feel ready. You will never feel ready. Just start. Pick one person you admire. Send them a short message. Ask for fifteen minutes of their time. Most people say yes.
If you are already established in your career and you have something to offer, become a mentor. You do not need to be a senior director. You just need to be willing to listen and share what you have learned. That is enough. That is more than enough.
And if you are in Egypt, know that you are not alone. There is a growing community of women in STEM here who are supporting each other. Join us. On MakePossible. On LinkedIn. At local meetups. We are here. We see you. We want to help you succeed.
Mentoring changed my life. It can change yours too. Take the first step today.


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MakePossible was created by SCWIST
(Society for Canadian Women in Science and Technology)
With project funding support from Women and Gender Equality Canada
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