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

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.

Whenever I go out during Ramadan
young men who pass by me mutter,
“O Allah, I seek refuge in you from all evil and evil-doers.”
gender violence, harassment, the street

I stopped going to school at that time.
I didn’t know what harassment was, but there was a rape incident being talked about on TV.
I thought he had raped me.
When I finally found the courage to start going out again, I would hide behind other women in the street.

“Let’s take a photo the Lebanese way! Stand like this.”
I did as she said and I thought I must’ve looked funny, and that people would think I was a slut because I was trying to flaunt my breasts.
body image, harassment

He slipped his hand under the table,
Put it on my leg,
And said,
“Do you know what a man and a woman do in bed?”
To which I naively and innocently replied,
“No.”

The first time I told my mother that I filed a harassment report at the police station,
She screamed in shock and made a big scene.
“You’re bringing shame upon the family!”
“You’re disgracing your father even after his death!”
“How could you go to a police station?”

I was taking a walk with two friends,
When I looked behind us,
And saw a man catcalling us from afar.
I kept an eye on him,
Until he caught up and started walking beside me.
He kept saying disgusting things.
Then he said, “I want to marry all three of you.”
harassment; the street, friendship

I used to wear skirts and blouses.
I had a good body, and my breasts were relatively perky.
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street

When I first started work, I used to talk to the clients in a very professional manner, saying "sir" and "mister", and I would find them replying with things like, "Sure, beautiful," and "Yes, love."