I’m hesitant about telling my story,
But I feel like sharing.
I’m an expat living in Cairo.
I go to college there,
And I usually take a bus home.
I used to think it was the safest way,
And that I’d never be subjected to harassment on the bus.

I was sitting in my seat once,
When a 50-year-old man got on the bus.
He seemed like a decent man.
He was checking the seat numbers.
I thought he needed help,
“What’s your seat number?” I asked him.
“Is there someone sitting beside you?” he asked.
“No, have a seat,” I answered.

The bus makes two stops to load passengers,
One in Ramsis and one in Almaza.
It then hits the road.
I fell asleep on our way to Almaza,
Until I felt a shiver in my leg.

I was sitting on the right side,
And the old man was sitting on the left.
He was reading a newspaper,
And his right hand was hidden under it.
He had the newspaper wide open,
So that it even took up my space.
I didn’t think there was anything weird about it.
I assumed my body had just loosened up a little while I was asleep,
And had accidentally occupied some of his space.
The curtain next to me was open,
Yet he pretended to open it further,
And his hand bumped into one of my breasts.

I was taken aback.
I looked at him,
But he pretended to be looking at the road.
He surely didn’t mean it, I thought to myself.
I felt something weird was going on during the rest of the journey.
His hand was still under the wide-open newspaper.
He did not turn the page once.
And I kept feeling a shiver in my leg.

I was beginning to feel afraid.
I was still unaware of what was happening.
The bus stopped midway to fix a tire.
I felt my seat shaking,
Which was odd.
I was looking around,
When I locked eyes with a guy sitting on the left side of the bus.
He was gesturing with his hands that we switch seats.
“Why?” I gestured back.
Then I looked away.
I didn’t understand what was going on.

That was until something clicked in my brain.
I put my bag beside me,
So that it separated me from the old man.
It was starting to get dark,
But he still had his newspaper wide-open,
And I still felt something was off.

I removed the newspaper from over the bag,
And found his hand on top of the bag.
I snatched the bag away quickly and looked at him.
I stared at his hand,
Hoping he would feel ashamed and stop.
Then I put back my bag.
The guy who suggested we switch places looked at me again.
He asked if I’d like to switch seats with him.
I agreed, thankfully.

When I switched seats,
The guy’s friend, who was sitting beside him, jokingly told me,
“Why didn’t you just slap him across the face?’
“I couldn’t believe what was happening,” I answered.
“But no one reads the newspaper in the dark,” he replied.