That was until the day I swore to leave and never come back,
When he beat me and slapped me across my face,
Because we got into a heated argument.
My body bruised and bled.
gender violence, marriage, divorce, physical violence

I was once riding the train on my way to university in Minya.
I was wearing boots that were mid-leg. They looked a lot like those combat boots which recruited soldiers wear.
I was alone on the train, no one was sitting beside me.

His cousin tried to convince me to go back to him.
I told him I won’t.
He said, “Do it for the girls.”
I told him, “Growing up with a mother and father, who are divorced, but respect one another, is so much better than living with two people who hate each other.”

Like all girls, I’ve experienced sexual harassment many times.
By strangers in the streets, by a relative that took advantage of my innocence,
and by a brother who would spy on me in my room when I was unaware.
body image, gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, sexuality

There were a lot of women of different ages on the stairs,
And everywhere else.
They were all gathered in front of a specific room.
I was terrified.
I didn’t know what was happening.
Then, a tall, chubby man came out,
Carrying the older girl’s sister.
She wasn’t wearing any pants,
And she was bandaged up.

I live in a rather shaabi area.
Hijab is not a choice for us, nor is it a sign of piety.
It’s only a way of averting the attention of bastards away from women in the area.
I wore the niqab for a period of time because of all the times people have touched me.
gender violence, hijab, social pressure, harassment, the street

I hate putting myself in positions of vulnerability,
Even though, I know this kind of space is meant to be safe.
Comforting.
Empowering.
I have felt that way in the past and let go.
I have trusted those who I am expected to trust.
First, my uncle: the funny one.
Later, a monk.
gender violence, sexual violence, child molestation

One day they brought bang snaps to school,
And they threw it at Mrs. Cherine while she was writing on the board.
She was startled and when she turned around
Two or three boys got up, closed the door, turned off the lights,

When I was ten years old,
The sheikh called me to him and took me inside a closet,
Where he touched my private parts.

For the longest time, perhaps until after highschool, I thought all girls were like me.
Then I found out that not all of them were like me.
I didn’t understand what it meant. What’s the difference?
I would always avoid thinking about the incident.
Until a black cloud formed in my mind, engulfing the memory of this incident.