One time I got a suitor who had really good manners.
There was nothing wrong with him, but I rejected him.
I just didn’t feel it.
After I rejected him, my uncle called me and said
“The suitor called and he’s visiting us tomorrow.”
social pressure, social stigma, marriage

I wasn’t brave enough to tell my family that I wanted to stop wearing the hijab.
They’re Salafists,
And I could predict their reaction.
Whenever I attended tutoring lessons,
I’d look at the other girls’ clothes,
Clothes I was forbidden from wearing at that age.
I didn’t like going out most of the time,
Because people always called me an old lady,
Because of how I dressed.
That made me hate the way I looked.

My name is Khadra.
I’m 33 and I’m a middle school dropout,
But I don’t know how to read or write.
My parents passed away, and I have three kids:
Basma, Dina, and Amr.
My husband passed away too.

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

Cleanliness is the most important thing.
You should smell good, and you should be dressed up.
I’ll visit you tomorrow.
Make your mama proud.
We’re all coming tomorrow to check on you.

When I got married,
I thought I’d have to stay at home.
I got a job right after I graduated.
I thought being a working wife would take up all my time.
I didn’t want my daughter to come home and not find me there.
I wouldn’t be a good mother that way.
That’s what we all used to believe would happen.
Social pressure; marriage; work; motherhood

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.

My mother raised six girls.
My eldest sister got married when my father was still alive.
The rest of them got married later after he passed.
social pressure, gender violence, motherhood, work, marriage, family, parents

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.”

Look at me. Do you see me? Do you really see me?
Of course, all you see is a girl that looks like she comes from a good family.
But don’t be fooled by this quiet demeanour.
I’m burning on the inside.
No one can feel the anger inside me.