Perhaps the best way to look at a city is to stare into the eyes of its children. When I arrived in Cairo two weeks ago, I set off to explore, crossing the Nile River, which does indeed bear an emerald sheen. I stumbled upon a government complex where patches of green grass provided refuge from the dry sands of the Sahara for kids to play soccer. As I sat down to watch, a crew of young boys — probably around 10 years old — ran over and surrounded me, smiling.

What does Egypt have in store for these soon-to-be-teenagers, for these young men? It’s an important question for a mostly Muslim Middle Eastern country of 80 million, and in a city that’s commonly known as the cultural capital of the Arab world. In fact, Egypt is a young country. One in three is under the age of 15. And it was fitting that we were all together in front of large government buildings; the bloated, and often corrupt, bureaucracy here employs more than 6 million. This is certainly an option: a comfortable, yet not terribly prosperous profession in the civil service.

Schooling is also free through university, yet the prospects don’t seem great. Ahmed, a very intelligent young man, explained that his two years of university education in business only secured him a sales clerk job in the souvenir shop of a decent tourist hotel. Even if he finished his degree, finding employment worth his education would be very difficult, if not impossible.

Interestingly, the situation for young women is different. While society here is unquestionably male-dominated — in six days I can’t remember interacting with a single woman outside my hotel — the veil has actually become a kind of tool for women’s empowerment. Over lunch, Max Rodenbeck, the Middle East bureau chief for The Economist, explained that in 1980, only one in 20 girls wore a headscarf, while today, 80 percent of women cover their hair. In a way, wearing a headscarf has invited women into society, opening doors to a career.

Cairo is a cacophonous city. Horns, hustlers, the call to prayer, screaming from the minarets five times a day all make the city a bustling and exciting place. The boys in front of the government building shouted at me, their faces lit with curiosity. “Assalam aleikum,” I said, using the little Arabic I know. “Wa-alakeum salaam!” they roared back. And then one boy in a green T-shirt stepped directly to me and asked, with perfect English in a demanding tone, “What is your name?”

“Andy,” I said. He peered at me and said, “Pleased to meet you.”