It was me and two or three other girls on the bus.
Two of them were veiled and one was wearing the niqab.
We were all standing in a corner.
We were surrounded by men.
There was a man sitting with his legs wide open and laughing loudly.
It was as if he was the owner of the bus and could act any way he liked.

Mama forgot to explain periods to me.
The first time I got my period I was thirteen.
All the information I had about periods was from my friends.
womanhood, period

I love my dawra [cycle].
I call it dawra.
I don’t like using the word “period,”
Because it makes me feel as if I’m ashamed of it.
It’s one of those words we say in another language,
Because we’re too embarrassed of it.
I refer to it as my cycle because I’m not embarrassed by it.

I was 10 the first time I got it.
I was in the fifth grade then and it happened the night before an exam.
I thought “the monthly cycle” lasted an entire month,
And that I wouldn’t be able to play ever again.
I never wanted to grow up, even when I was younger.
womanhood, period

My mother passed away when I was young, before I got my period.
My grandmother was living with us at the time,
And I never heard about periods.
I was ten years old and I had exams,
I went to the bathroom and found blood in my underwear.
womanhood, period

I wanted to be a boy when I was young.
My brother and our cousins would be allowed to play in the garden behind our house until late, but not me.
They used to hop the fence, play hooky, then come back and lie about it, make up stories.
As for me, if I even so much as tried to call my cousin at night they’d tell me
“Why? Aren’t you going to see each other tomorrow morning?

I got my period when I was 10.
I was living in Saudi Arabia at the time,
And where I lived it was mandatory to wear the niqab,
So I always wore it when I went out.
womanhood, period, hijab

I was 12 years old when I got my first period.
I cried because I knew that meant I was a grown-up now.
My mother and my father’s relatives ululated and cheered.
My father was happy.
I still don’t understand the reason behind the immense happiness families feel when their daughter gets her period.
Does it mean there’s nothing wrong with me?
I don’t get it.

A couple of months later,
There was a copy of the Quran in the living room,
And my father asked to move it.
My grandfather was there too.
“I can’t,” I replied.
“Maybe it’s that time of the month,” my father said.
I went to my room and cried,
Because now everyone knew.
I don’t know why I used to be embarrassed about it.
I don’t know what made me feel embarrassed.

But I’m not embarrassed by it at all now.
If anyone asks me what’s wrong with me when I looked tired,
I tell them I’m on my period.
It doesn’t matter who it is that’s asking me.
I’m not afraid or embarrassed saying it, like I used to be.
And I don’t have a problem eating in front of other people when I’m not fasting.

I was disgusted at the blood coming out of me.
I saw it the way they did: dirty blood.
Blood that forbade me from praying.
Blood that meant a woman couldn’t sleep with a man—or so say they say.
Blood that I tried to hide.
womahood, period, body image

I understood what a period was was,
But not very well.
Mama never talked to me about it.
When I got it for the first time,
I couldn’t tell her,
Because I could never talk to her about anything.