Every time I walk down the street
I’m scared some pig will beat me up,
Or throw acid at me,
Or harass me,
Because the look on their faces is terrifying

I was harassed two years ago.
I was walking down the street,
And I felt someone following me,
So I went down another street,
But he kept following me.

When I first started wearing those pants,
The way people looked at me changed.

“Don’t react to anything you hear.
Just keep walking.”
“Don’t talk back, no matter what.
Walk away.”
“No one knows what he could do to you.”
That’s what we’re told.
We’re told to obey.
If someone insults me,
I should just walk away.
That way he’ll keep doing what he does.

I was leaving school.
This school was in what people say is one of the most high-end areas in Cairo.
I was wearing gabardine pants and a baggy polo t-shirt.
It was the school uniform.
He was walking towards me.
gender violence, harassment, the street

I was fifteen years old.
I was visiting the countryside,
Where I went on a walk with my cousins and sisters.
Eid here is different.
One should not go out after noon.
I didn’t know that when I suggested going for a walk.

Whenever I go out during Ramadan
young men who pass by me mutter,
“O Allah, I seek refuge in you from all evil and evil-doers.”
gender violence, harassment, the street

“Hajj, where do you want to go?
I’ll take you.”
“Help me cross the street,
To my house.”
“What’s your name?”
I told him my name.
“What’s your father’s name?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Are you not Muslim?”

I was waiting for the tram,
When I saw them coming towards me,
And calling two others from behind.

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