We need to see the IDs of the people who visited you yesterday.
Yes, this is standard procedure.
The security guards need them.
We need the girls’ IDs, not the men’s.

I walked until I reached Talaat Harb square.
As soon as I got there,
I found groups of young adults and children all over the square.
There were groups of no less than 10 children each.
I thought to myself that that was enough walking for the day,

I was walking home from a private tutoring session.
It was during Ramadan,
At around 8 a.m.
I was walking alone as usual.

My mother raised six girls.
My eldest sister got married when my father was still alive.
The rest of them got married later after he passed.
social pressure, gender violence, motherhood, work, marriage, family, parents

He was my neighbor at our old house.
He wasn’t much older than me.
We became friends really quickly and talked on the phone a lot.
We couldn’t go out together here.
He called me one day and told me he was on his way back from university and would stay for a while at his family’s apartment.
“I want to see you,” he said.

I was fed up with his silly blabber.
He didn’t stop talking the whole ride.
I remembered the stories I heard about taxi drivers.
I had one hand on the handle as he chattered away.

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 crossing El-Tagneed Street one morning, it was ten minutes to 7:00, when suddenly, a man driving past in a car spanked my behind.

I’ve been sexually abused since I was 5 years old.
I can still feel his hand on me, his leers.
Without going into more details, the whole thing was creepy.
I was molested by my uncle.

Whenever I was at my grandmother’s, he’d sit close to me, touch me.
And I was stupid and didn’t understand what was going on.
gender violence, sexual violence, child molestation, harassment

When I was little, I often dreamt of a demon.
I’d bang on our front door as the demon came down the stairs.
I’d scream and my voice would catch in my throat.
My hands would grow heavier as I pounded on the door.
When I got married, I started to suspect that demon was my husband.
domestic violence, gender violence, physical violence, social stigma, work, addiction