I didn’t realize the t-shirt was too short, and suddenly, as I was getting out of the car, I felt that there was something wrong.
No, there wasn’t anything wrong.
But I felt like a part of me was naked.
Just because a part I normally cover up was bare.
The whole time I was walking down the street, I was afraid someone would touch me.
They were going to come from behind and pinch my ass, then laugh and make a run for it!
A repeat of a scenario that happened more than 8 years ago:
I was taking a walk with my cousin.
I weighed maybe 10 kilos less back then.
And I was veiled and was wearing a top over pants.
He crossed the street, pinched me, laughed, and ran away.
I stopped in my tracks. I didn’t say a word. I didn’t move.
She understood what had happened and chased after him.
But I didn’t say anything; I didn’t move.
I’m not afraid of you.
I’m not afraid of you touching me or saying nasty things to me.
I’m afraid of myself.
Afraid of standing still, not saying a word, and not being able to move an inch.
 
 
*Story was performed in:
Look at her - Cairo & lyon - October & December 2013