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.

Something annoying happens every Ramadan.
As a woman, I’m looked at as a glitch in the Egyptian societal system.
I’m seen as a problem, just because I don’t cover my hair.
social stigma, social pressure, hijab, hair, harassment, the street

I was in highschool at the time.
It was inappropriate to tell mama about this sort of thing,
She never said so,
But I had a feeling that what happened could not be talked about.

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,

She stood, pretty as a picture,
In the midst of a place that despised beauty.
The eyes of the passengers, once cold and dead, were now filled with anger and jealousy.
Filled with unspoken words I’ve heard before.

I was walking down a busy street one day,
When I felt someone press against my back.
There was someone embracing me from behind.
I thought it was someone I knew.
gender violence, harassment, the street

We might see things differently,
But the guy on the outside sees my sister, my mother, and my fiance as mere “females”.
A body, a hole to fill, a corpse, a mattress,
A ride, a bang, a screw, a fuck,
A piece of meat everyone wants to tear into with their teeth

Mama was paranoid about harassment.
She thought it was everywhere.
She wanted to protect me.

I’ll tell you what happened but don’t tell anyone else.
Last week, when I was going home,
There was a guy who wanted to get into the elevator with me.
He looked strange.
I refused to get into the elevator with him.

We were walking down the street, holding hands.
A man passed us by and laughed in derision.
“What are you in love or something?”
social stigma, sexuality, harassment, the street