I want to be pretty like you.
So people think I’m beautiful when I get married.
But what will happen if I never become pretty like you?

Two of my friends fell in love and decided to be together.
Two months into their relationship, he proposed.
I knew my guy friend to be open-minded.
However, he started asking my other friend, his fiancee, not to hang out or talk with other guys.

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.

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

I’m in love with a man who means the world to me.
We’ve been together for 3 years.
He’s married and has children,
But I still love him.
romantic relationships, gender violence, social pressure

I come from a conservative, traditional, and somewhat wealthy, capitalist family.
They appreciate a woman’s right to an education and a career, but only under the supervision of the family.
When it comes to marriage, it must be with the total consensus and control of the family.

Ahmed: “What do you think of that hottie over there?”
Amr: “Which one? The veiled one?
I love veiled women.”
Ahmed: “Really?
Why?”
Amr: “You know when you get a wrapped present,
And you take your time unwrapping it?”
Ahmed: “I’m talking about the girl walking with her, man.
Of course I wasn’t talking about that woman over there.
She looks like the potential brides my mother makes me meet.”
Amr: “Your mother makes you meet potential brides?”
Ahmed: “Yeah, man.
All the time.
She thinks they’re all like her,
Or will be like her in exactly two years.
I’ve stopped meeting them,
So, now she sends me their pictures on Facebook.”

I used to always watch her from the examination room window in the government hospital that I worked at.
Her name was Sokkara. She was young. She couldn’t be older than 13 years old.

I got out of the Opera Station and I was searching for a taxi when all of a sudden someone touched my behind. When I turned to look, I saw a man in his 40s walking along, as if nothing had happened.

I am not obligated to have my headphones on whenever I’m walking so I wouldn’t have to hear what they say.
Because even if I can’t hear them, I can still see the way they look at me.
social stigma, social pressure, masculinity, bullying, the street