When I was in college, a joke started about someone in our group and spread throughout the entire university:
“Is that your body, Ahmed, or your mother’s?

The heroine of my story, is a 34-year-old female.
Unmarried, beautiful, highly educated with a PhD, well-mannered, and open-minded.
Her major sin, which she will keep paying for throughout her life, is that she is over 30 and unmarried.

I’m a guy.
I was ten years old at the time.
We were living in a family house,
Which meant I was oftentimes left alone with other family members.
They’d tell me they were just going to play with my toys,
But we never actually played with them.

The first time I told my mother that I filed a harassment report at the police station,
She screamed in shock and made a big scene.
“You’re bringing shame upon the family!”
“You’re disgracing your father even after his death!”
“How could you go to a police station?”

This experience made me lose my job.
It made me lose the ability to get my money from the marketplace and give it to people.
It made me lose so many things.
My losses were financial when I entered that place. 
What I learned was to never trust anyone.
prison, work, social stigma

Everyone believes that this piece of fabric not only covers my head, but my brain too, affecting its ability to function intellectually.
I’m always told that my actions and ideas don’t befit my headscarf.
People always expect me to act like a nun, and to always defend the headscarf and the conduct of every covered female.

My name is Khadra.
I’m 33 and I’m a middle school dropout,
But I don’t know how to read or write.
My parents passed away, and I have three kids:
Basma, Dina, and Amr.
My husband passed away too.

Why are you late, missy?
What time is it?
You come home every day at 2 or 3 in the morning.

The police officer was saying the most disgusting curse words when he was interrogating me.
I got my period at that moment.
“What is that?” he asked.
“Blood,” I said.
prison, social stigma

My siblings act like I got a divorce to become their personal servant.
They abuse my help.
Even my brother decided to say something about it: “So, just because she’s had rotten luck and had to come back here, you all decide to make her do everything alone?”
social stigma, parents, parents