The only indication that something wrong was going on was how quickly everything stopped when someone walked in, and how he told me to not tell anyone.
I used to always listen to him because he was older than me.
The more I thought about it, the less normal it felt.
I told mama when I was in the fourth grade: “He touches my breasts and my behind, and sometimes, he takes off his pants. Is that normal?"
There are things that have happened,
That we refuse to admit.
Even when we remember the details.
We can never admit they’re true.
It’s just like watching a film,
That you aren’t the protagonist of.
That could never happen to me.
I’m stronger and better than that.
It’s never going to happen to me.
My father was a difficult man.
He didn't like us girls.
He only liked the boys.
He was my father’s age,
I met him at Ramses station on my way back to Minya.
He was a professor at Ain Shams University,
And he treated me like a daughter.
He used to call me at my parents’ house to check if I needed anything.
We went with them,
And I don’t remember anything about that day,
Except for the doctor yelling at me.
She told me to take off my pants,
But I refused.
They gave me anesthesia,
And cut off a part of me.
I regained consciousness when I had become a “woman.”
Everything changed after that day.
Gender violence; sexual violence; physical violence; FGM; sex
They told me it was a game.
A game that everyone played.
They wanted to see who was the best one at it.
I was very naive.
Day after day, we’d go into the room and they’d choose one of us to “play” with.
Day after day, we explored each other through this game.
Day after day, I’d enter the apartment with excitement to start playing the game.
I was molested by my father when I was a child.
Last week I had an argument with my ex.
He confronted me in public.
All because he found out that my daughter and I have jobs.
“You shouldn't be working!” he said.
How can we not work when he doesn't pay me any child support?!
domestic violence, gender violence, sexual violence, physical violence, marriage, divorce
There was a guy in a red car,
Who kept slowing down for me.
He kept saying something,
But I can’t bring myself to say it out loud.
All I can say is that it was about a specific part of my back.