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

Walk like a soldier.
Don’t you know how soldiers walk?
Eyes straight.
Back straight.
No swaying.

My first experience with harassment was, unfortunately, from the person closest to me.
That person also happened to be my cousin who was a few years older than me. 
She would spend the summers at our place, and my parents would go to work.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment

I was walking down the street, it was about an hour after Eid prayers, when a guy riding past on a motorcycle tried to touch me.

Inside me,
Is a man called Mohamed.
He comes out in different situations.
Like when Sara goes out alone,
Or goes out with her girl friends.

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

Their looks pierce my soul.
O Allah, what should I do?
Why?
Why do people’s stares bother me?
I feel like something is attacking me.

I just couldn’t wait to grow up to be a man.
Whenever I’d see women waiting in line in front of the kiosk,
I’d go press myself up against their bodies.
The most any of them would do was just walk away.

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 want to lick your pussy,”
He said in a disgusting whisper.
It was 2 in the afternoon,
In a relatively wide street.
I turned around,
And my body froze.
I wanted to vomit.
Sexual violence; harassment; the street