I never ran or even moved from my place.
I remember really well,
When I’d run up the stairs,
Or run in Agamy market.

I was walking home from a private tutoring session.
It was during Ramadan,
At around 8 a.m.
I was walking alone as usual.

I heard a girl scream as I ran towards the crowd.
I started pulling people out of the way, trying to reach her, but I was shoved out of the circle of men surrounding her every single time.

How is it that he molests me, and takes away a part of me,
but I’m expected to censor myself when I tell the story?
I regret ever listening to what you had to say,
to what you call traditional or proper or haram.

As I walked down the street, a man my father's age tells me "Is your cunt as beautiful as you are?"
As I walked down the street, a guy from behind touches me and says, "I want to rub my penis against you"
gender violence, sexual violence, harassment, the street

The day, since the very beginning, was filled with leery looks, catcalling, men rubbing against me, pestering me, and hands trying to grope me.
Whenever I lean forward to pick something up, everyone starts staring at my breasts.
The first taxi I stopped:
- "Garden City?"
-"Who could possibly say no to a beauty like you?"
-"Let me out here!"

When I first started wearing those pants,
The way people looked at me changed.

One time, I was followed by a tok tok driver who shouted all sorts of obscenities at me.
“You’re disgusting”, was all I managed to muster.

That day, I was already a little upset.
As I was walking past a coffee shop, a guy riding a bike suddenly rammed into me, on purpose.
None of the men sitting at the coffee shop said anything.

They don’t want us to speak about what we see and hear.
They say that’s it’s improper and inappropriate.
But I’m forced to listen to it.
Why should I embellish an ugly reality?