I think I was 9 or 10 years old.
I was at the marketplace with my aunt,
When a man with a crutch, and who was older than my grandfather, groped my behind.
He kept walking around in the market looking for other girls to grope.
I looked at him in disgust and anger.
gender violence, sexual violence, rape, social stigma, social pressure, the street
You’re a slut.
You travel with boys.
You smoke.
And your paintings?!
You brought us shame,
Don’t come back home.
You gotta be a strong man.
You can’t be a teacher’s pet because that’d make you a sissy.
You gotta be clever.
And be friends with the right people.
You must have connections, and be in control.
Because she wanted her own place.
She wanted to live.
That’s what a marriage contract was to her: freedom.
Around two and a half months later he told me,
“You must stay at home, because I’m about to start work,
So you must stay with the kid.”
I refused, of course, and told him, “I’ll send him to a daycare center.”
I honestly don’t understand people who ask me that question.
“How could you let him?”
It’s not like when a man’s about to beat up his wife, he stops to ask her if she’d let him first.
Why is there an assumption that just because something happened, she must have agreed to it?
gender violence, marriage, social pressure, romantic relationships
There is a voice in my head that says,
“You gotta stick up for yourself.
How can you not do anything?
Beat them up!
You gotta fight back.”
I was making my way out of the Ramses metro station—I lived in Shubra at the time.
I was wearing a maxi skirt and a long sleeved shirt, and my hair was tied back into a bun.
I look disheveled.
gender violence, sexual violence, social pressure, public transportation