I was molested by my father when I was a child.

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

I was sitting on the right side,
And the old man was sitting on the left.
He was reading a newspaper,
And his right hand was hidden under it.
He had the newspaper wide open,
So that it even took up my space.

I was driving across the May 15th Bridge on my way to Alef Bookstore. All of a sudden, I was bombarded with catcalls from a car full of seemingly drunk guys. It’s okay; this happens.

I got breast reduction surgery,
Because I’m sick and tired of the things people say to me;
Men and women.
Walking down the street with my husband,
I hear things like,
“What huge breasts!”
And “He’s so lucky!”
I ask him not to fight with them.
I tell him it’s not worth it.
body image, sexual violence, gender violence, harassment, the street

One time, after a hectic day at work, I got my bike out to ride around for a bit. I wanted to enjoy the night breeze.
While I was cycling, a disgusting creature on a motorcycle grabbed my behind. “Isn’t what you’re doing inappropriate?” he asked.

I never physically harassed a woman.
When I would like a girl, I would go speak to her.
It satisfied my ego.
That was until I saw a girl being harassed in the street.

I was taking a walk with a friend down the Maadi corniche.
A military soldier sitting atop a tank decided to whistle at us.
I know that a lot of people might say,
“What’s the big deal? He just whistled. Let it go!”
the street, gender violence, harassment, sexual violence

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 wish I could be like the woman in the alley.
The one who takes off her slippers and threatens to beat 14 guys in the metro,
Until they run away.