I was walking down a street with two friends of mine, and a man kept following us, saying,
“I want to fuck you” and do so and so to you. The kind of talk everyone’s familiar with.
One of my friends stopped walking and cussed him out.
gender violence, harassment, social stigma, the street

My looks didn’t concern me when I was entering into journalism.
I told myself that as soon as I speak and show my personality,
I’ll draw everyone’s attention.

I stopped wearing the hijab a few months ago.
Ramadan is approaching and I’m terrified.
I’m afraid of what my family might say.
I’m afraid of what people in the street will say.
social stigma, hijab, hair, harassment, the street, social pressure

For example, in a shaabi area,
You can’t walk with your arms around a woman.
You’d be asking for it if you did.
It’s okay to just walk alongside a woman,
But without any display of affection.
If you walk with your arms around a woman,
You’d never hear the end of it.

I have to sit a certain way, I can't move my hands when I speak.
I can't cry around people, and if someone hits me, I have to hit them back. These are just a few examples of things I should do if I want "to be a man."
I’m still going to be myself, no matter how much this costs me and no matter how many times people tell me that I'm "not a man."

My sister visited me at home two weeks ago.
She told me I was harming her and her son.
And that if anything bad happened to our mother, it’d be my fault.
She told me my whole life was wrong and unnatural.

I think I was 9 or 10 years old.
I was at the marketplace with my aunt,
When a man with a crutch, and who was older than my grandfather, groped my behind.
He kept walking around in the market looking for other girls to grope.
I looked at him in disgust and anger.
gender violence, sexual violence, rape, social stigma, social pressure, the street

My cousin keeps turning my family against me.
“How could a girl travel alone?
What is she doing in Cairo?
She can’t travel alone, and she can’t work in Cairo.

I was eight years old.
I was playing in the streets,
Where a sixty year old man used to sell honey.
He would get us honey every month.
That time there was no one at home.

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.