1st May Labour Day : The Seven Factory Girls.

It is May Day — Labour Day, aka International Workers Day in Egypt — and I have to say that, despite all the official statements, I am a bit disappointed and angry.

Two weeks ago, Egypt had its own mini–Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire, and it did not stay in the news cycle for more than 72 hours — or, to be more accurate, the social media news cycle — before it disappeared. And that made me angry.

On 14 April, a tragic incident unfolded in the Ard El-Geneina area of Cairo's working-class Al-Zawiya Al-Hamra neighbourhood, after a massive fire broke out inside a sports trainers and sneakers factory on Mohamed Amin Street.

Preliminary investigations confirmed seven people dead, as civil defence forces continued to comb through the site to identify any additional casualties or injuries resulting from the blaze.

That was the initial official statement. Then, unofficially, the details of the tragedy began to emerge.

Seven young women died, and five others were injured after a fire broke out in an unlicensed shoe manufacturing workshop in a very narrow alley in Cairo's Zawiya Al-Hamra district, authorities said.

The blaze erupted inside a three-storey building of approximately 70 square metres per floor, operating without a license as a leather shoe production facility. The ground floor was used for storage, while the first and second floors served as production areas — a layout that accelerated the fire's spread due to the concentration of flammable materials on site.

The so-called factory after the fire

The victims were girls between 19 and 30 years old, earning roughly 100 Egyptian pounds per day.

An initial inspection found a complete absence of occupational safety measures and no emergency exits, which investigators say trapped the workers as the fire spread rapidly through the smoke-filled space over nearly four hours.

Eyewitnesses reported that the doors were locked and the windows were closed and secured, blocking any means of escape.

Residents called for a full investigation and accountability for all parties responsible, starting with the workshop owner, who denied any wrongdoing. Security forces arrested the workshop's owner following the incident.

The incident — a grim echo of the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire — renewed scrutiny of unlicensed industrial operations and the enforcement of safety regulations in residential buildings across Cairo.

It was not the first fire of its kind in recent memory — it was the second case of a fire killing workers in an unlicensed factory inside a residential building in the space of 15 days.

On 31 March 2026, eight people were killed and 17 others injured when a fire broke out at a clothing factory and storage facility on the ground floor of a 12-story residential building in the Zaitoun area, Cairo. The majority of the victims were women, yet the blaze drew far less public attention than the fire at the Seven Girls factory.

The number of fires in industrial facilities continued to rise for the third consecutive year in 2025, following 459 fires in 2024, 402 in 2023, and 380 in 2022 — compared to 587 in 2021.

This is a case with multi-layered economic and political failures that are plain for anyone to see.

Seven girls, seven tragedies

The seven girls have a very special place in Egyptian culture and folklore.

From Rasheed in the north to Shalateen in the south, you will find many places called "The Seven Girls."

Many wonder who the seven girls were, and there are many legends about them. The most popular ones come from Upper Egypt — from Minya, specifically from Al-Bahnasa, where there is a shrine named after them.

The legend goes back to the Arab conquest of Egypt, when the Arab army fought a great battle against the Roman army, and it has several versions.

One version holds that during the battle, seven Coptic Egyptian girls disguised themselves as men and joined the Arab army alongside a group of Coptic Egyptian men who had had enough of Roman rule and its persecution of Egyptian Coptic Orthodox Christians.

Another version holds that the girls were seven Coptic Egyptian girls who brought food to the Arab army and were killed by the Romans for doing so.

In a third version, they were not Coptic girls at all, but seven Arab women fighting within the army's ranks.

It was a decisive battle that the Arabs won, but at a great cost. Hundreds were killed and buried in the city in a vast cemetery, commonly known as Egypt's Al-Baqi', because it holds the graves of 5,000 of the Prophet Mohamed's (PBUH) companions — that is, people who had seen the Prophet alive — martyred in total during the conquest of Egypt. It was the second cemetery outside Medina to host that number of the Prophet's companions (peace be upon them).

Beside this great cemetery, which is a landmark in its own right, there is a shrine for those seven girls, built in their honour and known as the Dome of the Seven Maidens.

The shrine of the seven girls in Minya 
by Yudi Ben Jarbu  in September 2022

For centuries, these shrines have been a place of blessing. There is a well nearby where, according to local legend, the Holy Family drank during their journey through Egypt.

There is a cemetery in Cairo's City of the Dead that is also called "The Seven Girls." Its legend dates back to the Fatimid era: the seven girls were said to have been executed by none other than the eccentric Caliph Al-Hakim, as punishment for a feud with their father. Stricken with guilt, Al-Hakim built seven domed shrines in their memory in a gesture of atonement.

In Alexandria, according to oral tradition, the area known as "The Seven Girls" is named after seven virgin nuns massacred by the Romans during the years of persecution. 

I have mentioned three places, three tales — but versions of the Seven Girls legend exist in Gharbia and Fayoum too, and in other places beyond them, each carrying its own heartbreaking story of seven young women who died as maidens.

I do not need to guess — if we look further back, we can surely find them in Ancient Egypt too.

The whole legacy of the seven girls is like a hidden gem, and yet another testament to Egypt's remarkable, multi-layered history.

I thought of this legend when I saw the funeral of the seven factory girls from Al-Zawya Al-Hamra.

Many people participated in the funeral Held for the seven girls killed in Al-Zawiya Al-Hamra Fire, departing from Al-Wasimi Mosque in Hadayek El-Qobba, on Thursday, following the fire on 15 April.

وداع مؤلم.. تشييع جثامين 7 فتيات ضحايا حريق الزاوية الحمراء من مسجد الوسيمي بحدائق القبة

تصوير: ايهاب عمران pic.twitter.com/rM6O9DlRis

— المصري اليوم (@AlMasryAlYoum) April 15, 2026

They have become the seven girls of Al-Zawya Al-Hamra, their stories a reflection of Egypt's dire economic conditions and the toll these take on its working classes.

We do not know the names of those seven girls in our folklore, but we know the names of the seven factory girls killed in the fire.

Their names were Rawan, Mariam, Awatef, Nourhan, Hana, Naema — and Warda.

All fifteen workers at the factory were young women, most of them living in the surrounding neighbourhood, earning wages that barely covered their basic needs.

The relatives of the victims described the women's stories to the media in voices breaking with grief.

Rawan — it was her first day, and also her last.

Rawan Osama

Rawan's mother told Al-Shorouk Newspaper that her daughter had celebrated her engagement just the week before, shortly after turning 29. She had been in high spirits, working hard to prepare for married life despite difficult financial circumstances — earning 100 Egyptian pounds a day to help cover the costs of setting up a home.

"She was our backbone," her mother said.

Rawan had been living through difficult circumstances — her parents had separated years earlier, leaving her and her mother to manage alone. At a young age, she had become the true backbone of the household, responsible for supporting her family and caring for her three younger siblings.

Her mother explained that Rawan had been unable to complete her education due to financial hardship and had to make do with a diploma before entering the workforce to help her mother shoulder the burdens of daily life.

That joy ended before Rawan could wear a wedding dress on the upcoming Eid.

The tragedy made no distinction between the bride-to-be and the student with ambitions of her own.

Mariam Goma'a

Mariam was 18 years old and a secondary school student — one of the top in her class, according to her mother, who spoke to reporters outside Al-Zeitoun Specialist Hospital as she waited to receive her daughter's body. Mariam had dreamed of studying engineering and was working at the factory to help pay for her own tuition and private lessons.

"Her dreams and ambitions turned into a painful tragedy," her mother said, "after the fire ended her life before she could achieve any of what she was working toward."

Warda and Awatef were trying to help with household expenses and save up for marriage.

                                            "Unfortunately, I could not find a single photo for Warda"

Warda bid her family farewell without knowing it was for the last time. She left in the morning, pulled the door of her home shut behind her, and came back carried on shoulders — wrapped in what remained of her trousseau.

Awatef Sayid 

Awatef lived in the same neighborhood as the factory and was well known to the locals there.

The 24-year-old was due to sign her marriage contract on 25 April and had been saving money for her wedding. She had been working at the factory for nearly a year.

During the fire, Awatef called her fiancé, pleading for help.

Her mother — a widow with no pension, raising three children, of whom Awatef was her only daughter — is also a garment factory worker. She remembers her daughter as kind and caring, and says she was paid per piece at the informal factory. The owner, she believes, should go to jail for negligence.

Nourhan Mohi

Nourhan, 20 years old, was working at the factory alongside her sister.

Her older sister Nada survived because she was on the lower floor.

Nourhan did not make it.

Her wedding, like Rawan's, had been planned for after Eid.

Hana Nabil

Hana, 19 years old, was the only breadwinner for her small family — and an only child.

Her father Nabil had worked at a pharmaceutical factory for 13 years until it shut down and he and his colleagues were let go. A succession of jobs followed — a ful and falafel restaurant, then a curtains factory, then work as a wallpaper installer — until his health gave out entirely and he underwent open-heart surgery. His doctor told him he could no longer work in any capacity.

Hana's mother had also been rendered bedridden by illness, undergoing dialysis. To keep the household afloat, Hana had taken on work cleaning stairwells in people's buildings for 70 or 80 pounds a day. At an early age, the weight of the family had fallen on her shoulders.

At the same time, she was studying at a technical institute in Shubra El-Kheima. She had been working at the factory for nine months alongside friends, every day from eight in the morning until ten at night, for a daily wage of 100 pounds. Only after the supervisor pointed out to the owner that the girls were paying for their own breakfast and lunch was a raise of 20 pounds granted, bringing the daily wage to 120.

She brought food and drinks with her each day when she arrived. She bought small treats. She saved up for clothes. Many suitors had come forward — among them an army officer — but she held back, weighed down by worry for her father and for everything that rested on her.

Now her father is petitioning the government for an exceptional pension, because he and his wife have lost their daughter, who was their only source of income — and he carries the grief of having to say those words.

Naema Ashraf

Naema had been working at the factory for six or seven months, according to her father, for 100 pounds a day. She had a plan: to put the money into a gameya — a monthly rotating savings group — so she could buy things for herself while also studying at an institute in Shubra. She had a plan to earn top grades and go on to university.

Naema's father had divorced her mother and left her and her brother behind.

He said the fire destroyed his daughter beyond recognition — he could not identify her himself. Her mother identified her by her body.

A colleague of the victims of the Al-Zawya factory fire revealed alarming conditions inside the facility in the days before the deadly blaze.

Basant Ahmed, who worked at the factory during Ramadan, said she and fourteen other female workers had all agreed to quit due to grueling 12-hour shifts that paid only 100 Egyptian pounds a day — leaving them unable to break their fast during the holy month.

Most critically, Basant disclosed that late Awatef had repeatedly warned the factory's supervisor that one of the machines was electrocuting her, but the owner repeatedly promised to fix it and never did.

Basant noted that while the factory owners themselves were not hostile, the supervisor was unresponsive to the workers' repeated complaints. 

She says she saw with her own eyes bare wires sparking on the floor where flammable materials were stored, and that this had been the case since Ramadan. When she reported it to the supervisor, the response was: "Sit down and get back to work — I'll deal with it."

Basant’s testimony was echoed in the testimonies of the survivors as well as the families of the victims and the neighbours of the factory, which should not exist in the first place in a residential area.

The prosecution is still investigating the case.

The government announced it would pay compensation to the families of the victims.

Workers in the informal sector accounted for 51.3% of the total workforce, according to the Labour Force Bulletin published by the Central Agency for Public Mobilization and Statistics (CAPMAS) for the fourth quarter of 2025.

Of the 22.118 million wage workers recorded in that bulletin, 18.013 million were male, and 4.105 million were female.

The seven factory girls reminded me not only of the folklore of the seven girls, but also of the 19 "Grape Girls" between the age of 14-23 from the village of Kafr El-Sanabsa in Menoufia, who were killed in a horrific road accident in June 2025 while travelling to work harvesting grapes for low wages — seasonal labour they took on to support themselves and their families.

They had been working on a farm whose grape harvest is exported to Europe, despite the farm's extensive record of labour rights violations.

In March 1911, a fire broke out in the Triangle Waist Company garment factory, occupying the upper floors of a building in Greenwich Village, New York, killing 146 garment workers — 123 women and girls and 23 men — mostly immigrants earning very low wages. The factory's owners had locked the exits and doors to "prevent workers from taking unauthorized breaks and to reduce theft."

That incident would be commemorated on International Women’s Day.

I do not know how people fail to see the parallels.

I know it took decades of long legal struggles to secure basic workers' rights so that a Triangle Waist Company fire would not happen again. But it happened. And it is still happening.

Al-Zawya Al-Hamra factory fire is the latest evidence.     

What to watch on May Day

Speaking of factory girls, I cannot ignore the late, great Mohamed Khan's film The Factory Girl — one of his last works of realist cinema, and a gem for the way it captures the world of working-class women. I also thought of it when I came across a clip related to the Zawya factory girls.

There is also a classic 1961 film called The Seven Girls, about a widower raising seven daughters — ranging from teenagers to toddlers — in 1960s Egypt.