Abokamar: An Experience, a Sensation and an Inspiration to Watch

“Having fun” is what Egyptians are known to be good at; they are generally considered to be the funniest people in the region. Does that mean Abokamar, with his fan base of over 196k followers on TikTok and 110k followers on Instagram, is the funniest of the funniest? “I don’t know,” he laughs. “You’ll have to tell me. I think besides the people who follow me, most people think that I’m annoying and controversial.”

Abokamar’s content is “an experience” made up of witty social commentary, entertaining car rides, skits by satirical personas he steps into, and gorgeous fit checks/thirst traps. What might be considered “controversial” is that he challenges gender norms and criticizes toxic masculine behavior in a social context that is steeped in patriarchal traditions.

Born and raised in Mahalla El-Kubra, a town in the Nile Delta, Abokamar moved to Cairo to pursue his studies and has since made a home there. Like most (dare I say, all) people, his relationship with the Egyptian capital is complicated. “When I moved there, it felt like I’m living in a dream,” he says. “It was so big, there’s always something happening. But the thing is: Cairo sucks you in, until you’ve been there for five or ten years, and you ask yourself,What have I been doing?'”

In Abokamar’s case, the answer is not too difficult: He’s garnered recognition as an artist and influencer. But I know what he means: Cairo’ intense energy exhausts and overwhelms you, but it won’t let you go. “I love it so much, but it makes me feel heavy,” he shares. “It’s like a sneaky person that lures you in. Once you’ve settled in and are enjoying it, it punches you in the face and makes you its bitch.” He laughs. “I’m Cairo’s bitch now.”

When Abokamar went viral overnight with his fictional character, Badreya in 2021, becoming a comedian was not yet on his radar. It took him a while to believe that he could be the funny guy from TikTok, even though he’d wanted to make videos since the days of Vine. “One time, an acquaintance came to me at a party and told me, ‘You’re so funny, you should act,’” he says. “I went to the bathroom and thought, ‘Why is he bullying me?’ I thought he was making fun of me for this video I had just made.”

His content is relatable because he shares the self-doubt that often arises when one puts themselves out there for all to see and criticize. “I used to think all my videos were bad, right after I made them,” says Abokamar. “Part of my process of growing is that I want to make content that inspires and pushes people. I hate how social media preaches perfectionism and pretends that people have an amazing life. I try to mention the mental struggles that I go through, because I want to make people feel like they’re not alone in this. It’s okay to feel like a fuck-up sometimes.”

Yes, Abokamar is funny. But his content is more than that, it’s satirical. He finds subtle ways to make people question social dynamics. As an artist, he exists outside of the Egyptian comedy scene, partly because he’s still practicing real-life comedy in his kitchen (joking with himself between heating up food and cleaning), and partly because “a big chunk of the Egyptian comedy scene is about bullying people.”

Abokamar has much experience dealing with online bullies. “I have blocked more than 10,000 people,” he says. “Not only people who are like, ‘Why are you doing this?,’ also people who comment, ‘Your hair looked better the other day.’” Every day, he goes onto TikTok and approves comments, then goes onto Instagram and deletes every single hateful comment; on rare occasions, he replies. “The process has become embedded in my daily activities, it’s quite intense. I drink water, I work out, I breathe and I block people.”

He doesn’t deny that every now and then, there’s a triggering comment, but overall he has learned to detach from the hate. “People who write these comments have a lot of self-hate or are filled with hate,” he says. “When they get four likes on their comment, they feel great about themselves, because they have the spotlight for a minute. But you will not feel good about yourself by hating on me or someone else.”

Sharing unwarranted opinions about other people’s business is a universal phenomenon, but it is especially prevalent in Egypt and the region. “In North Africa, people will hate on anything, it’s crazy to me,” laughs Abokamar. “I could say ‘I’m breathing oxygen’ and someone will call me out on it.” He admits that inside his head, he’s a hater, too. “But I always tell people that you really don’t want to make others feel like shit over something that’s completely useless. Just get a life, have fun, move on.”

The many hearts Abokamar has won definitely surpass the haters in the comments. And because a significant group in his fanbase (82 percent of whom are women) is made of mothers, he knows he must be doing something right.

Towards the end of the conversation, which Abokamar fills with anecdotes of that one time he accidentally, anxiously sent the same voice note three times, or that time a mother stopped him on her way to a funeral to tell him she’s a fan, I ask if there’s anything else he’d like to say. “I just want to tell people to practice self-love, [because] it’s hard out here,” he answers, then pauses.

“Wait, why am I telling people what to do? Why am I acting like I just received an award?” Abokamar shrugs, then says ceremoniously: “With this award (holding up an imaginary award and giving a big, grateful smile to the camera), I just want to say, practice self-love, [because] it’s hard out here. And be more empathetic. Thank you.”