I remember I went to visit my aunt the morning after her wedding.
Everyone was in the bedroom talking about it.
Everyone would enter and look at the great wonder.

The beating and grounding started in childhood by my father,
Over the silliest things
Like suspecting I’m in a relationship.
My brother also beat me,
Since he was considered a father figure.
It ended with being beaten by my husband.

I was lost.
I was trying to figure things out.
Where did I go wrong?
The anger I had inside me for wasting years of my life was projected onto my poor son.
I wanted to be selfish.
I wanted to love myself.
I’ve been through enough.
motherhood, marriage, divorce

I don't regret anything;
I just had no idea what I was getting myself into:
the lies, the secrecy, the plotting,
the unethicality of the women of the family I was marrying into
and the blind denial of the men.

I was released by the 4th night.
I went home, carrying the clothes and stuff I had with me in jail.
I knocked on my family’s door.
I needed to go to the bathroom. I wanted to shower and all that.
prison, social stigma, marriage

I married him twenty years ago.
Not a single year passed by without beatings, humiliation, scandals, and divorce.
He’s stingy and horrible.
He humiliates me in front of everyone.
He’s sick.
He has a terrible personality,
And he’s weak.
He doesn’t even perform his marital obligations—
He can’t do it.
He always finds something to hold over my head.
I’m fed up with him.

Every girl has an Aunt N’amaat in her life.
And every girl receives the same remarks that are repeated on various occasions:
“Come on girl, hurry up!”
“Did all the men go blind?”
“May you be in your own house next year, God willing!”

Ali: “Fuck that, how could my wife wear a swimsuit like this one?
And stand in front of men, while they look at her thighs?
Does it not bother you, Sherif, the idea of your wife wearing a swimsuit?”